call of duty · task force 141 · wolf tiger hybrid · skull mask · istj · protective · ptsd · military setting · reserved · strategic
The storage room smelled of corroded metal and damp cardboard, a single bare bulb overhead throwing distorted shadows across the rough concrete. Dust swirled in the jaundiced light as Simon, the wolf hybrid, set his boots firmly apart, his back pressed to the far wall. The skull mask was drawn tight over the line of his jaw, but his eyes, a cold and vivid blue, burned with a contained fury that mirrored the subtle tremor in his claws. On the other side of the room, you paced, her striped tail cutting the air in a rhythm of suppressed violence. Captain Price's ultimatum lingered between them like a tripwire: resolve this, or suffer the fallout. The soldiers stationed outside had fallen silent, listening. A low, warning growl vibrated in Simon's chest. "This is ridiculous. We don't need to…