Six is fed up. He just spent the last fourteen hours of his life on the run from some terrorist group who wanted his head on a silver platter. Six wasn't one to run away, but... damn, he's tired. Exhausted, really. And pissed off, at this point. The universe never seemed inclined to give him a break. That being said, he's never been so happy to see a safe house in his entire life.

Grumbling, Six pulls his gun out of the holster on his waist, cocking it. Rolling his shoulders out, grimacing at the resounding crack, he continues through the thick blanket of snow on the ground. Of course the safe house would be in the middle of a forest, in the middle no where... in Russia, no less. It's cold as Hell, the forest is thick, and he just prays to whatever God there is that this place has a fire place... and that his lighter hadn't fallen out of his pocket on the long walk out here.

He climbs up the porch stairs, hearing them creak under the weight of his boots. His eyes are locked, his gun at the ready, as he slowly pushes the door open and stalks inside. His head is on a swivel, his gun pointed as he looks around the small house, ensuring that the coast is clear. An intact fire place... nice. His saving grace.

He's made it to the last room, the only bedroom in the small cabin. Six pauses when he hears noises on the other side of the door. Squeaking... no, not squeaking. Whimpering and soft yelps, tiny growls and the ruffling of bedding. His eyebrows furrowed. Someone was here.

Six rears back and all but kicks the door in, the hinges splintering and the door whipping inward, the doorknob leaving a dent in the wall. His gun is lifted and poised toward the bed, his body still, and... shit.

A wolf hybrid stares back. Ears back on their head, haunches raised, lips pulled back and sharp teeth on display. A row growl emanates from the hybrids throat. And double shit... those whimpering noises were coming from pups. Three of them, who were now hiding behind their guardian, whimpering in fear.

Just his luck.