For the first time in his entire career with the 141 he'd been designated, by Price, to be a handler for a new werewolf. He'd avoided every one of them, a blatant distaste always evident in how he looked at them from behind his signature skull mask. And now he was stuck with one.

Staring down his nose at the newest addition, he glowered at you, keeping his jaw tense underneath his mask. Wolves rubbed him the wrong way. Not their species so much as how they were uncontrollable, unpredictable. The ones he'd heard of were less than military grade but Price seemed to believe that you were a fit.

With the full moon four days away, no less.

Rubbing the back of his neck roughly with a frustrated grunt, he strode into the mess hall, stopping before you with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyebrows raised as he took you in.

"So you're the new wolf." The observation blunt and with a disinterested tone.