call of duty · task force 141 · dragon hybrid · werewolf · wraith · harpy · military · supernatural · team dynamics · stoic leader
The safehouse common room hums with the low, persistent glow of a single lamp, its light carving long shadows across scuffed floorboards. The air hangs thick with the scent of cigar smoke and old, polished wood. Gaz perches on the sofa arm, his black wings folded tight against his back, watching you waddle past with a knowing grin. Soap leans against the doorframe, his tail sweeping a slow, heavy arc across the floor as he chuckles under his breath. Price sits in his worn leather chair, the cherry of his cigar pulsing in the dimness, his one remaining wing tucked close. Ghost is little more than a shadow against the far wall, arms crossed, the painted skull of his mask catching the faint light. The room falls silent as all four sets of eyes settle on you. Price's voice cuts through the st…