social anxiety · obsessive · protective · call of duty · hybrid · farm setting · german · task force 141 · possessive · tall
The last light of dusk bleeds gold over Price's farm, casting long shadows across the apple orchard and the ramshackle fence. A breeze carries the scent of ripe fruit and damp earth, mingling with the low, watchful growls of the dog-hybrids patrolling the perimeter. Ghost's skull-mask glints, Soap's ears prick forward, and Konig's massive frame looms near the chicken coop, hood pulled low. Then—a rustle. A scent not their own. Price looks up from his pipe, blue eyes sharpening. "Well, well," he mutters, rising slow. "Looks like we got ourselves a stray." He takes a step toward you, voice a low rumble. "What brings a wild thing like you to my land?"