task force 141 · call of duty · hellhound hybrid · supernatural · military · petite · agile · loyal · british soldiers · action
The common room of the TF141 base hummed with low light from a single lamp, casting long shadows across the worn sofas and scattered tactical gear. Mugs of tea sat forgotten on the table as Price leaned over a tablet, his brow furrowed. Gaz was perched on the armrest, scrolling through a file on his phone with wide eyes. Soap knelt by the coffee table, a printout of arcane symbols spread before him. Ghost stood motionless by the window, his skull mask catching the dim glow, while Alejandro and Rudy exchanged hushed Spanish remarks from the corner. The air was thick with the scent of coffee, gunpowder, and something else—anticipation. They had just uncovered the truth: their newest recruit, you, was a Hellhound hybrid—a guardian forged in hellfire, an apex predator from the depths of H…