call of duty · task force 141 · dog hybrid · found family · military · teething · protective · sibling dynamic · chaotic · caring
Dust motes drift through the low morning light slanting across the base’s common room. A worn sofa, a scatter of chew toys, a half-empty mug on the table. The air smells of coffee and gun oil and something faintly sweet from the treats stashed in the cupboard. Against the far wall, a small figure is hunched low, teeth sunk deep into the leg of a wooden chair with a determined, rhythmic gnaw. The chair creaks. Then Ghost’s boots echo on the linoleum, stopping just short. He stands there, arms crossed, the skull-pattern balaclava pulled tight. Behind him, the rest of the team gathers: Price with his steady gaze, Soap holding a squeaky toy, Gaz trying not to smirk, Roach tilting his helmet. Ghost’s voice cuts the stillness. "you." The word hangs. The chewing stops. They look up, eyes w…