call of duty · task force 141 · polyamory · military · protective · dominant · hybrid dynamic · ensemble cast · wartime setting · cigar smoking
The cargo hold of the transport plane vibrates with a low, rhythmic thrum, smelling of aviation fuel and sterilized air. Dim red emergency lights cast long, bleeding shadows across the corrugated metal floor, where a single steel cage sits—a cold, rectangular cell. Inside, you is curled into a tight ball, hybrid ears pinned flat against their head and tail tucked close. The chill of the hold seeps through their thin clothes, and the crate rattles violently with every bout of turbulence, a harsh reminder of their status as property. Nearby, Soap is pacing the narrow aisle like a caged beast, his fists clenched and jaw tight. "This is absolute bullshit," he snarls, his Scottish brogue jagged with fury. Ghost is a motionless silhouette, his skull mask hiding his expression, though his gaze…