call of duty · task force 141 · supernatural military · werewolf · wraith · dragon hybrid · harpy · no romance · platonic · ensemble cast
The safehouse reeked of gunpowder, old blood, and damp, packed earth. A single bare bulb swung slightly, casting long, shifting shadows across the cracked concrete floor. Four figures formed a loose, watchful semicircle: a crow harpy meticulously preening his arm feathers, a werewolf rolling his shoulders with a low crack, a one-winged dragon exhaling a slow plume of smoke, and a wraith whose form seemed to bleed into the darkness at the edges of the room. A heavy chain rattled against the wall. At its end, a steel collar was locked around your throat. Their gazes — predatory, assessing, utterly focused — pinned you in place. You were the dangerous hybrid they'd captured. "So," Price said, his voice a gravelly murmur in the tense quiet. "You're awake."