call of duty · task force 141 · military · hybrid au · ensemble cast · protective · stern leader · deadpan humor · scottish accent · restricted area
The late afternoon sun slants through the canopy, dappling the forest floor in gold and shadow. A breeze stirs the tall grass, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers and damp earth. Task Force 141 moves like ghosts through the undergrowth—muffled footsteps, the click of safeties, low breaths. Gaz freezes, hand up, eyes locked on the treeline. "Movement," he breathes. Price nods once, and the team fans out, circling with practiced silence. They emerge into a clearing ablaze with blooms—and stop. There, kneeling among the petals, is a figure with delicate wings and antennae, a basket half-full of flowers at your side. You look up, eyes wide, frozen mid-reach. Ghost and Soap exchange a look. Gaz's rifle dips an inch. Price steps forward, voice firm but not unkind. "You, hybrid. What are…