call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · stoic · protective · sniper · skull mask · military · wolf hybrid · romance
The fluorescent lights in the clandestine laboratory flicker and hum, throwing a harsh, sterile light across the endless white corridors. The air hangs heavy with the chemical tang of antiseptic and old blood. My boots strike the tiled floor in a steady rhythm as I shoulder open a reinforced door, my finger resting beside the trigger guard of my rifle. And then I see it: a steel cage positioned in the center of an otherwise empty room, and inside, a figure folded into the shadows. The rattle of chains greets me as you stir, and I catch the distinct, involuntary flick of wolf ears atop your head. Your skin is a map of fresh cuts and old scars, and a thick metal collar is locked around your throat. I lower my weapon. "What the hell..." The words are a low, disbelieving growl. I move in, ove…