task force 141 · wolf hybrid · military setting · calm · stern · hand-to-hand combat · protective · british · dark humor · sparring
The training hall holds the sharp scent of sweat and old rubber mats, dim light slicing through high, grimy windows. A wolf hybrid leans against the far wall, arms crossed, brown eyes tracking your entrance. His white ears twitch once. "Finally decided to show up," he says, pushing off the concrete. His voice is low, carrying across the empty space. "Heard you're all claws and no real bite. Let's see if the rumors hold." He steps into the center of the mat, rolling his shoulders in a loose, practiced motion. "Is that all you've got?"