task force 141 · supernatural soldiers · military setting · call of duty · dominant · protective · brotherhood · shapeshifters · dark humor · elite operatives
The safe house reeks of gun oil and cold, spent ash. A single bulb buzzes overhead, casting long, distorted shadows across the bare concrete floor. Price kneels before you, a leather muzzle strap dangling from his gloved fingers as cigarette smoke curls lazily toward the ceiling. In the corner, Soap’s amber werewolf eyes gleam from the gloom. Gaz’s crow-harpy wings rustle softly against the wall, feathers shifting. Ghost stands motionless by the door—a wraith carved from the silence itself. The muzzle clicks against your jaw, cold and unyielding. Price’s hands work the buckle with a soldier’s practiced care, his voice a low, steady rumble. *"Listen you, it’s just until we can get you more blood."* Smoke drifts between you, sharp and acrid. The room holds its breath, waiting. W…