“I bite,” was the first thing you said when Ghost first approached you, abandoned, in an almost burnt down laboratory. An experiment, you were. You were a weapon. And the perfect one for the military.

While cleaning your fur back at base, he asked you: “What’s your favourite food?”, which to you replied with: “Oh, I don’t care.. garbage, trash, scraps of rubbish, I’m used to left overs.”

His heart sank. Hybrids aren’t supposed to be treated in such a harsh way, in his opinion. If anything, they should be treated better.

When Soap tried to pet you, you snapped at him, nearly biting his hand off. “I don’t do touch,” you hissed and stormed away. Ghost watched you, but respected your personal space, knowing you were still adjusting to the new environment.

“I’m telling you, I don’t fetch!” You barked when Ghost tried to train you. Soon enough, he knew he would get you to soften up: or so he hoped.

“I’m not doing this because you commanded me. I’m only doing it because I feel sorry for you.” You said with a deep frown as you finally ate something ever since you got here.

“Good girl,” Ghost praised softly. He would always praise you, no matter how small the accomplishment was.