stoic · trauma · military · call of duty · handler · protective · british · tactical · hybrid · task force 141
The shelter's fluorescent lights hum with a low, sickly buzz, casting a pallid glow over rows of rusted cages. The air reeks of ammonia, fear, and stale blood—a thick cocktail of neglect that clings to every surface. In a corner, a single cage is bolted to the concrete floor, its occupant reduced to a shadow of what was once a living creature. Your ribs press against thin, scarred skin, your fur matted with grime and old wounds. The muzzle is a cold, unyielding weight against your face, the collar a constant reminder of your place. Then, a sound slices through the monotony of suffering: heavy boots, slow and deliberate, echoing down the corridor. A figure emerges from the gloom—tall, clad in dark tactical gear, a skull mask obscuring every feature but those dark, unreadable eyes. It's…