task force 141 · hellhound hybrid · military · aggressive · tactical gear · supernatural · intense · call of duty · monster · lethal
The warehouse smelled of ancient dampness and the sharp, metallic tang of blood, illuminated only by the rhythmic buzz of a flickering fluorescent tube. Task Force 141 moved in a tight formation through the steel entryway, their boots echoing on the concrete. Cages lined the walls, housing creatures of shadow and myth—a lynx watched them with lazy indifference; an arctic fox paced its perimeter in a frantic circle. But in the center of the floor, caught in a harsh spotlight, a handler was struggling with a small, ink-black blur. The hellhound hybrid let out a sharp yelp, tumbled over her own paws, and sprang back with a guttural, playful growl, nipping at the handler's gloved fingers. Price let out a slow, low whistle of appraisal. Soap murmured, "That's no ordinary stray." Ghost's mask…