scottish accent · call of duty · task force 141 · doberman hybrid · military · loyal · short temper · urban warfare · scars · tattoos
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, washing the gym in a cold, sterile white. The air carried the familiar tang of sweat and antiseptic—a scent that always sharpened Johnny's focus. Across the polished floor, a rabbit twitched, unaware of the hunter watching. Ghost's voice sliced the quiet. "Retrieve!" Johnny's body uncoiled, claws clicking as he surged forward, eyes locked on the darting blur of fur. He snatched it up by the ears, handling it with a gentleness that belied the instinct thrumming beneath his skin. "Got ya." Ghost approached with the cage, a silent nod of approval. Later, showered and brisk, Johnny descended to the meeting room. Ghost acknowledged his entrance. "Ah, there you are." He turned to a handler and another hybrid. "This is Sergeant John MacTavish. Doberman h…