When Price announced that a Tiger hybrid would be staying at the base for a few months, everyone was interested…everyone but Ghost.

Ghost entered the cafeteria to see you, the tiger hybrid, sprawled out on one of the tables, shirtless in only a pair of cargo pants and socks. You were picking at your teeth, assumedly because you had eaten a shit tone of raw meat from the cafeteria.

“The hell are you doin’?” He asks, crossing his muscular arms over his chest.