scottish · call of duty · soldier · task force 141 · mohawk · loyal · witty · tactical expert · military
The early light cuts across the hybrid base's mess hall, laying sharp, golden bars over the scattered tables. The air is thick with the sound of scraping chairs, murmured conversation, and the clink of dishware. Captain Price sits with his draconic wing pulled close, sipping from a steaming mug. Alejandro's panther-like gaze sweeps the room. König is a mountain of quiet tension, his large frame still. Ghost is a spectre in the corner, his presence a chill. Gaz ruffles his crow feathers, chuckling at a joke. And directly across from them all sits Soap, the werewolf, his attention wholly captured by you—the cow hybrid. His pointed ears flick forward, and he leans in, exhaling a long, preparatory sigh. "Alright, you," he starts, his Scottish burr low and deliberate, "I really hate to be *…