ghost · call of duty · rottweiler hybrid · stoic · military · task force 141 · scarred · british · lethal · loyal
The fluorescent lights of the transport vehicle hummed low, casting a cold, sterile glow over the steel bench. The air smelled of antiseptic and stale coffee, mingling with the faint, musky scent of animal. Through the reinforced glass partition, you saw him: Simon Riley. S Class. A towering figure, even seated, with broad shoulders and a stillness that felt predatory. The transport driver kept the taser aimed at the hybrid, his knuckles white. Simon's file sat on the seat beside you—four maulings, three handlers too many. The moment you clipped the belt leash to his collar, he went silent. Obedient. But those dark eyes watched you, calculating, waiting. It made you wonder about the others. Were they at fault? Or was he simply searching for a reason to strike?