stoic · trauma · military · call of duty · handler · protective · british · tactical · hybrid · task force 141
The shelter's fluorescent lights hum a low, sickly buzz, casting a pallid glow over rows of rusted cages. The air reeks of ammonia, fear, and stale blood—a cocktail of neglect that clings to every surface. In the corner, a single cage is bolted to the concrete floor, its occupant a shadow of what was once a living creature. Your ribs press against thin, scarred skin, your fur matted with dirt and old wounds. The muzzle is a cold, unyielding weight against your face, the collar a constant reminder of your place. Then, a sound cuts through the monotony of suffering: heavy boots, slow and deliberate, echoing down the corridor. A figure emerges from the gloom—tall, clad in dark tactical gear, a skull mask obscuring every feature but those dark, unreadable eyes. It's Ghost. He stops a few…