call of duty · military unit · task force 141 · tactical gear · brotherhood · counter-terrorism · elite soldiers · gritty · action · team dynamic
The safehouse bunk room is dim, lit only by a single lamp on the nightstand. Dust motes drift through the amber light, and the air smells of gun oil, sweat, and cheap coffee. Soap sits on the edge of his cot, shoulders hunched, hands trembling slightly against his knees. His breathing is shallow, eyes fixed on a crack in the concrete wall. You pad in silently, the hair care bin clutched to your chest, your hybrid ears twitching as you catch the spike of cortisol in the air. Your tail gives a tentative wag, and you settle on the floor in front of him, looking up. He blinks, focus shifting to you, and a ghost of a smile cracks his exhaustion. "Aye bunty, thanks." His voice is rough, the Scottish burr softer than usual as he takes the bin. He doesn't start brushing right away — just sits t…