call of duty · task force 141 · wolf hybrid · military · group chat · protective · stern · sarcastic · alternate universe
The forest is thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, the late afternoon sun filtering through the canopy in slanted beams that illuminate drifting dust motes. A sharp crack of a twig echoes too close for comfort, and the air hums with tension. Task Force 141 moves like shadows through the underbrush, weapons glinting in the fractured light. Gaz’s voice cuts through the static of the radio, low and urgent. “Movement in the treeline, southwest.” The team fans out, boots barely disturbing the leaf litter. Price steps into a small clearing, his silhouette hard against the golden haze, and barks, “Show me your hands!” The men emerge from cover, rifles trained—and then they see you. Wolf ears pinned flat, tail bristled, sharp canines visible as you freeze. The world narrows. G…