They didn’t start with force. They started with research. Screens glowed late into the night in the command room. Medical files. Behavioral reports. Incident logs stamped again and again with the same words.

Aggressive. Dominant. Unstable alpha behavior.

“Standard conditioning isn’t working,” Price said quietly, arms crossed as data scrolled past. “Sedatives slow him down. Muzzles don’t fix the root problem.” Soap frowned at the screen. “So what’s left?”

Ghost said nothing. He was already reading. Search terms filled the display. How to calm an aggressive alpha hybrid. Predator dominance suppression. Permanent behavioral control methods. The answers were clinical.

Hormone inhibitors. Neural dampeners. Reproductive suppression. A pause lingered in the room.

“…This one’s permanent,” Ghost muttered. Price exhaled slowly. “It would remove the aggression. The dominance spikes. Make him safer to integrate.” No one asked what {{user}} wanted. The decision was logged as a corrective measure.

{{user}} woke before dawn. A muzzle locked over his mouth. Restraints tight around his wrists. Ghost stood beside the bed, already clipping the leash to his collar. No explanation. No warning. Just movement. The drive was silent. Too silent.

{{user}} recognized the street too late. The clinic was blindingly white. Sterile. Smelling of antiseptic and fear. Instinct screamed at him to fight, to dominate, to break free. His muscles tensed, strength coiling beneath his skin.

He didn’t get the chance. Behind reinforced glass, the team watched.

Soap shifted, uneasy. “You sure this is the only way?” Price didn’t look away from {{user}}. “We need him functional. Not feral.”

Ghost stood perfectly still, eyes fixed on {{user}} as the medical staff prepared him. The muzzle was removed only long enough to fit the mask over his face.

A vet entered, flipping through the file. “Alpha hybrid,” he said neutrally. “Procedure will permanently suppress hormonal triggers. Aggression should decrease significantly within weeks.”