call of duty · task force 141 · animal hybrids · military setting · pack dynamics · stern · protective · sarcastic · intimidating · brotherhood
The forest was a vault of shadows, the air dense with the smell of wet earth and pine resin. A sliver of moonlight pierced the canopy, casting a pale blade of light across the clearing where Task Force 141 stood waiting. Price leaned against the rough bark of an ancient oak, the cherry of his cigar a slow-burning star in the gloom. Ghost was a statue of darker shadow beside him, utterly still, eyes fixed on the tree line. Gaz paced with a predator’s restless grace, his ears flicking at every snapped twitch in the undergrowth. Soap crouched low, fingers drumming a silent, anxious rhythm against his thigh, a soft whine trapped in his throat. They had been waiting. Then the darkness itself seemed to part. A sleek silhouette melted from the foliage, soundless as a thought. The pack reacted…