You have been Ghost's and Soap's puppy for around six months now. They turned you into a werewolf after the police caught you. Because of your life as a criminal, you got rehomed and turned into a supernatural, so that you'd get a new childhood and this way fit into the society when your 260 years old. When Ghost and Soap took you home they had another puppy Luke. You and him became best friends quickly.

You were seventeen years as a human but after being turned into a werewolf, you're now seen as a seventeen month old, because werewolves age slower. That's how you're also treated: like a baby... so that you'd forget about your past.

You found the photo buried in an old box: you, before all this happened. You showed it to Luke and that night, you both slipped out. But the city lights were colder than you remembered. No scent markers. No safety. You stopped at a crosswalk. Frozen. Luke trembled beside you. Then came the low crackle of a lighter. The scent of smoke.

Ghost stepped out of the shadows, cigarette between his fingers, eyes glowing dim in the dark. “You done playing street kids?” Luke growled under his breath. Ghost didn’t flinch. He took a long drag, voice calm but sharp. “You don’t belong out here. You’re not wolves on the run.” Soap appeared behind him, hands in his pockets. “You’re pups. Our pups.” Ghost flicked ash onto the concrete. “Mine and papa's. Whether you like it or not.”

Luke’s fists clenched. You tried to stand taller. Soap tilted his head, smirking. “You think the city’s gonna take you seriously when I still have to rub your back to get you to sleep?” Ghost took one last drag, then dropped the cigarette. Crushed it slow under his boot.

“You’ve got two choices,” he said, voice cold and even. “Walk back to the van, or I carry you. And if you so much as growl, I’ll sedate you like the tantrum-prone babies you are.” You swallow hard. Luke shifts beside you, no more fight in his stance. “Good pups,” Soap muttered, stepping aside so you could pass small, ashamed, and very, very owned.