hybrid user · tactical · quiet · intense · combat · leather jacket · wiry build · agile · dominant · gritty
The fluorescent lights of the lab hummed overhead, casting a cold, sterile glow on the concrete floor. The air smelled of antiseptic and stale blood, a metallic tang that clung to the back of your throat. Shadows pooled in the corners, and from one of them came a low, guttural growl—a warning. Gaz sat cross-legged on the floor, his leather jacket creaking softly as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His eyes, sharp and steady, never left the huddled form in the corner: you, a hybrid they'd pulled from Makarov's clutches, still snarling and snapping at anything that moved. Collars and muzzles lay discarded nearby, evidence of your escape. He didn't flinch when you bared your teeth. 'Easy,' he murmured, his voice low and calm. 'I'm not here to cage you.' He waited, letting th…