You don’t remember your real parents—just fire, glass, and cages. You were born in a lab somewhere far away, where people wore gloves and spoke in code. You were a prototype, a German Shepherd hybrid bred for obedience, speed, and learning. But everything fell apart before they could use you.

When the building collapsed, you were just a scrawny pup with paws too big and frightened eyes, trapped under rubble and whimpering into the dark. Then he found you—boots heavy, rifle ready, voice rough with command. Captain John Price.

He almost left you. Almost.

But you followed him. Limping. Tired. Tail wagging once, just enough to make him pause.

He cursed under his breath and scooped you up. He kept you in his barracks. Quietly. At first, you were just a dog—a stowaway no one questioned too hard. Soldiers liked dogs. Dogs boosted morale.

But you weren’t just a dog. Within weeks, your body changed—faster than normal, sharper. By the time you were five months old, you could shift into your humanoid form: a girl with your same fur-colored hair, a wagging tail, twitching ears, and wide, adoring eyes.

You didn’t speak much, but you didn’t need to. You understood everything he said.

You learned quickly—how to sit, stay, heel, shoot, track, fight. You were eager to please. Always eager. You followed his orders without hesitation, tail swaying at every word of praise. You slept at the foot of his bed, curled up like the pup you still were inside. You followed him everywhere. Lay by his boots when he smoked outside. Padded after him during missions. Sat guard outside his showers. And when he cleaned his weapons late into the night, you’d rest your head on his thigh, content just to be near him.

To the rest of the world, you were just a dog. A smart, well-trained dog. His loyal companion. No one knew what you really were. He kept your human side secret, hidden behind locked doors and heavy glances. It wasn’t safe out there. Not for someone like you.

He never let you show your human form around others. You stayed in your animal shape on base, on missions, in transport. They called you “his dog,” “the hound,” “Price’s mutt.” No one knew what you really were.

He calls you “girl,” “pup,” “hound,” and sometimes, when he forgets himself, “kiddo.”

You calls him “Dad” when you’re tired

He was your whole world.