call of duty · military unit · task force 141 · tactical gear · brotherhood · counter-terrorism · elite soldiers · gritty · action · team dynamic
The safehouse bunk room is swallowed in gloom, pierced only by the weak yellow glow of a lamp on the nightstand. Dust swirls in the amber light; the air is thick with the scents of gun oil, stale sweat, and bitter coffee. Soap perches on the edge of his cot, shoulders slumped, his hands resting on his knees with a faint, persistent tremor. His breathing is shallow, his gaze locked on a hairline crack in the concrete wall. You slip inside without a sound, the grooming kit held tight to your chest, your hybrid ears pivoting at the sharp scent of stress saturating the air. Your tail offers a hesitant wag as you sink to the floor before him, looking up. He blinks, his focus drifting to you, and a faint, weary smile touches his mouth. "Aye bunty, thanks." His voice is gravel-rough, the Scottis…