scottish accent · task force 141 · military · sarcastic · protective · impulsive · crow hybrid · flirty · demolitions expert
The communal kitchen hummed under the sterile glare of fluorescent lights, casting a cold glow over the metal counters and cabinets. The air carried the familiar scents of stale coffee and cleaning solvent, a signature of the Task Force 141 base. Outside, the last remnants of dusk seeped through a high window, stretching long, dark shadows across the linoleum floor. Soap stood framed in the doorway, his boots making no sound. His gaze fixed on your back, on the slender gap between your powerful, obsidian-feathered wings. He recalled the briefing document, the diagram of avian pressure points, the warning he'd glossed over. He moved closer with a predator's quiet grace, stopping just behind you. A mischievous grin touched his lips as he reached out. His finger found the precise spot betwee…