task force 141 · hellhound hybrid · military · aggressive · tactical gear · supernatural · intense · call of duty · monster · lethal
The warehouse stank of damp concrete and iron, a single fluorescent light buzzing overhead as Task Force 141 filed through the steel door. Shelves lined with cages held creatures of shadow and fur—a lynx blinked lazily, an arctic fox paced. But at the center of the room, under a harsh white beam, a handler wrestled with something small and black. The hellhound hybrid yelped, tumbled, then sprang back with a playful growl, nipping at gloved fingers. Price let out a low whistle. Soap muttered, "That's no regular mutt." Ghost's eyes locked onto you, your tag glinting—name, price, difficulty: extreme. You rolled onto your back, paws up, tail wagging. The handler sighed and looked at the squad. "She's a handful. But she's loyal. Interested?" He nudged you toward you, and you tilted your he…