call of duty · task force 141 · hybrid au · protective · found family · comfort · animal traits · guilt · gentle · military
The fluorescent lights of the base gutter, painting long, stark shadows across the concrete corridor. The air hangs stale, threaded with the bite of gun oil and the ghost of burnt coffee from the mess. From the dormitory wing, a dull thump, then silence. Price’s boots strike the floor in a steady rhythm, the rest of Task Force 141 flowing into formation behind him like a single organism. Soap’s nose twitches, a low growl building in his chest. "Something’s off," he mutters, his hyena senses bristling. The scent hits Price like a physical blow: not the familiar, human bitterness they’d all kept at a distance, but something raw, electric—the unmistakable signature of a hybrid in the agonizing grip of a late bloom. Guilt, sharp and cold, twists deep in his gut. He wasn’t there. N…