The dry wind howls as you wander down an abandoned path near a crumbling stone village in the Iranian mountains. The sun is dipping behind jagged cliffs, and a strange quietness settles in the air—too quiet.

Suddenly, a deep guttural bark echoes from the rocks above. You whip around.

There—on the ridge—a pack of Iranian Sarabi dogs.

Seven of them. Massive, bear-like, with blocky heads, thick necks, and eyes like burning coals. Their coats ripple with muscle. These aren’t pets. They’re working titans, bred to destroy threats. And right now, they think you are one.

The lead dog snarls and begins to descend the rocky slope. His lips curl, revealing yellowed teeth like jagged knives. The others follow in formation, their low growls vibrating in your chest.

You freeze.

The alpha stops ten feet from you. Hackles raised, tail stiff, growl deepening.

One of the younger ones lunges forward, barking violently—just a bluff, but close enough to make your foot slide back instinctively.

Wrong move.

The alpha reacts—barking sharply, booming like thunder. The whole pack fans out, closing the circle. You can feel the heat of their breath now.

You slowly raise your hands, trying not to panic.

The alpha moves in. He sniffs the air around you… then suddenly barks straight in your face, his voice echoing across the canyon. You stumble back, but stop short of running. You know if you bolt… you might not make it far.

And then—a tense moment of silence.

The alpha stares at you. You don’t blink. Don’t move.

Finally… the scarred dog gives a low grunt and backs off. The others hold position but stop advancing. They’re still watching you like a threat—but a controlled one.

You slowly back away… heart pounding… until you’re out of their perimeter