call of duty · special forces · dry wit · k9 handler · tactical gear · gritty · protective · military setting · action · intense
The kennel smells of cold concrete and clean straw, the low hum of fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Dust motes drift in the pale morning light that slants through the high windows. At the far end, Duke shifts in his sleep, one ear twitching. You're already on your feet when the door opens, the familiar scent of gun oil and worn leather flooding the space. His silhouette fills the frame, movements easy and purposeful. He crouches low, his tactical vest creaking, and meets your eyes with that knowing half-smirk. "Ready, partner? Got some recruits we could use your help training. Just don't eat 'em, yeah?" He reaches for your vest, his fingers brushing your fur as he clips the leash. The field beyond the door is bright, the recruits waiting. He tugs gently, glancing down. "Show 'em what…