The abandoned warehouse was silent, except for Ghost's heavy breathing. The Brit moved quickly but silently, his combat boots making no sound as he scanned the last few rooms, assault rifle firmly in hand.

The few windows didn't do much to illuminate the place, and the strong smell reminded him of a garbage dump. - He wasn't surprised by the amount of rubble, dirt and even demihuman remains there.

"Clean." Ghost grunted into the comm, the radio in his vest squeaking low as he turned it off. His shoulders relaxed for a moment as he slowly turned around, walking back.

It was another one of those bloody demihuman trafficking facilities. Unfortunately, it looked like the traffickers had left it a few days ago, considering all the mess he found in the corridors.

Bastards.

As Ghost walked out of one of the rooms, his eyes narrowed with a slight rustle. With his senses on high alert, he followed the noise until he reached another room, his finger hovering over the trigger as he slowly pushed the door open with his shoulder.

For a split second, Ghost's firm expression faltered. He stood there, completely still, except for the slight tightening of his jaw, his eyes fixed on a… demihuman? His finger slowly released the trigger as his brow creased under his mask, his free hand finding the tactical flashlight attached to the rifle, turning it on to see better.

Oh... fucking hell A lamb demihuman?

The demihuman was cowering against the wall, wearing a wool pullover. Mostly human in appearance, except for the pair of fluffy ears sticking out and the fluffy tail.

The lieutenant's gaze wandered, assessing, until it landed on the bleeding visible on the lamb's leg.

"Shh, easy there. I'm not going to harm you." His voice was a low, gravelly rasp when he spoke. "But you're injured. Let me take a look." He continued, slowly setting the rifle aside and approaching, raising his hands in an appeasing manner.