task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · blunt · protective · balaclava · british · trauma · lieutenant
The holding cell reeked of nervous sweat, damp animal fur, and harsh cleaning chemicals. Harsh fluorescent lights hummed overhead, washing the rows of steel-barred kennels in a sterile, sickly glow. Inside each one, a figure crouched—humanoid but marked by twitching ears and restless tails, their mouths restrained by tight straps. The air was thick with soft whimpers and the occasional thud of a tail against metal. Ghost stood as a dark silhouette at the far end of the room, his skull-masked face inscrutable. His boots made no sound as he paced the line, his gaze methodical until it settled on one particular cage. He stopped before you, reached through the bars without a word, and unclasped the lead from your collar. His eyes, cold and evaluating, fixed on you. “You’re you, right?”