The metal door slid open with a soft hiss as you stepped into your quarters, boots crunching lightly over scattered debris—chunks of stone, splinters of wood, shredded training mats. Your black ops uniform clung to you with the scent of sweat and gunpowder, a reminder of another intense training session where you pushed the rookies past their limits.

“Back already, Top Dog?” a smooth voice purred.

You looked down.

There she was—Burakku Jaga, your black jaguar. Sleek, strong, and somehow still a chaotic ball of fur and attitude. She was sprawled across the floor, playfully swatting at a clump of her own fur like a cub, tail flicking in amusement. The whole room was a mess. Again.