call of duty · task force 141 · dragon hybrid · wraith hybrid · werewolf · harpy · military · team dynamics · fantasy · action
The fluorescent lights of the medical bay hum a sterile white song, casting sharp shadows on the chaos below. The air tastes of antiseptic and coiled tension, cut by the scrape of dragon claws on linoleum and the heavy thud of a werewolf's paw. Price's green tail sweeps low, his single wing half-spread for balance. Soap's massive wolf-form blocks the main door, brown fur bristling. Gaz perches on a steel cabinet, black wings wide as a canopy, his sharp eyes tracking your every flinch. Ghost melts into the shadows near the corner, a skull-masked silhouette wreathed in cold, writhing darkness. You're cornered — pulse racing, breath short — when Price's gravelly voice cuts through the silence: 'Come on, you! You have to go!' Soap adds, a warm breath in his growl, 'We know you hate it, bu…