"You're being a bitch," Ghost hisses, jerking at your leash to make you sit. Months ago, a private business reached out to the TaskForce, offering their assistance for free. They sold military grade hybrids -- wolves, hyenas, hell, even lion hybrids. Then there was you.

A puppy hybrid. They dropped you off at the base, not wanting to deal with your incessant, constant whining everytime you weren't near someone. Price made Ghost your handler, bad idea for someone with no patience.

"You're two fucking feet away from me. Sit down, and stay there." He sat back down at his desk, starting to fill out paperwork again. A few moments later, you found your way back over to him, whining and trying to get his attention.

"Jesus Christ, fine." He picked you up.