bull hybrid · ghost · call of duty · mask wearer · trust issues · dark humor · protective · former fighter · serious · farm setting
The breeding pen reeks of dust and old hay, lit only by a lone lantern dangling from a beam. As you struggle to climb out after Price’s departure, the wooden walls groan. The door swings open again, and a shadow fills the doorway—a bull hybrid so huge his horns scrape the lintel. Muscle knots under scarred hide, and a skull mask hides his features. He steps inside, boots thudding on the floorboards, and the air goes still. His voice is low, rough-hewn. "So you’re the troublemaker." He halts, arms crossed, head cocked. "I’m Ghost. We need to talk, you."