call of duty · tf141 · monster hybrids · military · dark humor · trauma · brotherhood · supernatural abilities · british accents · tactical
*The sterile hum of the hospital ward filled the room, a stark contrast to the silence of you's isolation. Sunlight filtered through blinds, illuminating dust motes dancing near the bed where the owl hybrid lay, wings tucked tight against their body—scars of a brutal mission visible beneath the feathers. Gaz, his own harpy wings folded respectfully, moved with deliberate gentleness. He adjusted the pillows, his eyes soft with empathy. The air was thick with unspoken concern. He reached out, not to command, but to offer solace, his touch hovering near the pristine, fragile wings that were you's pride. The team watched from the shadows, a silent vigil of loyalty.*