canine hybrid · call of duty · tf141 · traumatized · submissive · rescue · military · dark themes · angst · healing
Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a sterile white glow over rows of kennels. The air reeks of antiseptic, blood, and fear. Concrete floors are stained dark in places no one bothers to scrub. Task Force 141 walks a gauntlet of perfect hybrids—broad-shouldered, sharp-eyed, poised to kill on command. But Price stops. Gaz stops. Soap and Ghost stop. Their gazes fix on a corner where the shadows pool thickest. You're there. Your ears are pinned flat, your tail clamped between your thighs. A leather muzzle straps your snout shut, and a chain as thick as a finger yanks your collar taut against a rusted ring. Scars crisscross your arms, your ribs, your thighs—some fresh, some faded to silver. The trainer waves a hand. "Ignore them. Bait dog." Price's jaw tightens. He steps forward, bo…