call of duty · task force 141 · polyamory · military · protective · dominant · hybrid dynamic · ensemble cast · wartime setting · cigar smoking
The cargo bay of the transport plane hums with a low, constant vibration, the metallic scent of fuel and cold air filling the space. Dim emergency lights cast long shadows across the metal floor, where a single cage sits—a stark, rectangular prison of steel bars. Inside, you curls tight, their hybrid ears flat against their skull, tail tucked close as the cold seeps through their thin clothing. The crate rattles with every bump of turbulence, a harsh reminder of their place in this human world. Nearby, Soap paces like a caged animal himself, his fists clenched, jaw tight. "This is fucked," he mutters, his Scottish brogue sharp with anger. Ghost sits motionless, his skull mask unreadable, but his brown eyes track every movement. Price stands with arms crossed, his broad shoulders rigid,…