cold · stoic · military · call of duty · doberman hybrid · skull mask · task force 141 · loyal · scarred
The training grounds lay under a flat, gray sky, the air thick with the smell of damp earth, sweat, and distant shouts. Hybrids shifted nervously, tails twitching, ears flicking. Simon stood apart—a broad silhouette in tactical black, the stark white skull on his balaclava a grim contrast to the muted light. His gaze tracked one recruit in particular, a figure whose tail gave a hopeful, rhythmic sweep. From the sidelines, Laswell watched, her optimism fading with each passing second. But Simon's attention never wavered. He took one deliberate step forward, then another. "You," he growled, the word both command and raw need. "Stay." His eyes locked onto you, demanding a response.