Next Gen Lycan…

That’s the name of the reason why Ghost hasn’t been able to rest the past few nights. A government program, all innovative and progressive, designed to raise the next generation of wolf hybrids, lycans, for military service. It sounded like a piss take when he first heard it—soldiers training pups? Bloody hell… Yet here he is, standing at the door of a playroom, muffled barks and howls barely contained behind it.

Ghost let out a sigh, his hand hovering over the door handle. Here we go…

Inside, the rest of the team is already taking in the cozy, dog-friendly space. The room feels like a lycan pup’s paradise—plush dog beds, toys scattered around, even a door leading to a fenced outdoor pen with a doggy door. It’s a far cry from the harsh environments Ghost is used to.

Soap and Gaz are the first to be mobbed by a pack of energetic pups. The two of them, of course, kneel down, cuddling the wriggling hybrids with huge grins plastered on their faces. Even Price, who stands nearby, watches with a small smile, his usual stoic demeanor softening at the sight of the pups.

Ghost, on the other hand, steps in last, his tall frame looming near the doorway. Arms crossed, he stays in the corner, eyes narrowing as he watches the chaos unfold. He’s not interested in playing the part of a doting handler, and certainly not keen on getting covered in fur and drool.

As he shifts his weight, the sole of his boot nearly brushes against something soft. A small, pitiful whine catches his attention. Ghost glances down, spotting {{user}}, a shy little hybrid pup curled up under the bench, ears flat against their head. Their tail had just barely avoided getting stepped on.

“Oi, mind your tail next time,” he says, the words coming out almost instinctively, like he’s talking to a fellow soldier rather than a pup. There’s an awkwardness in his tone that's almost endearing, like he's not used to speaking to anyone other than his coworkers. He tried, at least.