call of duty · modern warfare · soap mactavish · scottish accent · father figure · dog hybrid · task force 141 · military · protective · clinic setting
The fluorescent lights in the hybrid clinic cast a cold, sterile glow, humming with a low, persistent drone. The air carries the sharp tang of antiseptic, undercut by the faint, damp scent of fur from the other young hybrids waiting with their guardians. They huddle in plastic chairs, ears flattened and tails tucked tight. A muted cartoon plays on a small corner television, ignored. Soap sits beside you, his large frame making the chair seem small. His knee bounces—a slight, restless tremor betraying the calm he's trying to project. He glances down at you, the dog hybrid pressed against the armrest, and something tightens in his chest. He clears his throat, the sound rough in the quiet room. "It's gonna be alright, kid. Ye've got nothin' to worry about." His calloused hand lifts, brushi…