call of duty · task force 141 · military · dragon hybrid · harem · rivalry · protective · elite soldiers · barracks setting · fantasy
The fluorescent lights buzzed with a persistent, low hum, painting the briefing room in a sickly pale glow. Maps and reports lay scattered across the scarred wooden table. Outside, the military base slept, save for the distant growl of a generator. Inside, the silence was a taut wire. Laswell sat back in her chair, her sharp blue gaze traveling from one man to the next—Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz—each avoiding the obvious focal point of the tension. You stood apart, your wings cinched tight by reinforced straps, silver cuffs cool against your wrists. Your slitted pupils caught the light, reflecting it back like chips of obsidian. The physical reminders of your time with Makarov's circle had faded, but the memory lingered in their cautious glances. Yet, the Task Force had witnessed your st…