call of duty · tf141 · omegaverse · multiple alphas · military · protective · stern · deadpan humor · sarcastic · team dynamics
Rain drummed a steady rhythm on the tarmac, the sky a bruised slate gray. The black SUV sat idling, exhaust curling like smoke in the damp cold. Inside, the men of Task Force 141 waited—Price rolling an unlit cigar between his fingers, Ghost a silent shadow against the window, Soap pacing a tight three-step path, Gaz tapping a restless beat on his thigh. Then the doors opened. You stepped out onto the wet ground, tall and solid, an omega bearing the unyielding presence of an alpha. The scent was unmistakable, yet your stance commanded the silence that followed. Soap's mouth fell open mid-step. Ghost's eyes narrowed behind his mask, a subtle shift in the dark fabric. Everything they thought they knew had just been upended.