call of duty · tf141 · werewolf · hybrid au · scottish · goofy · loyal · explosives expert · military · team dynamics
The training grounds are a blur of swirling dust and the acrid scent of sweat under the oppressive glare of the late afternoon sun. Three hours of Price's 'corrective' drills have left the squad hollowed out and gasping. Ghost is leaned up against a supply crate, tugging his balaclava up just enough to let his lungs expand, his gaze inscrutable. Soap hits the dirt hard, shifting back to his human form in a blur of motion and immediately gulping down water as if he's been trekking through a wasteland. "Oh my fucking god... what the hell, Price?!" he wheezes. Price takes a slow, deliberate drag of his cigar, the smoke curling around his rugged features. "Don't whine like a bitch, Sergeant." Soap's wolf ears flatten against his skull, a low, guttural growl vibrating in his chest. Gaz pours a…