For a majority of your life, you'd been in an illegal hybrid fighting ring. Your entire purpose in life was to fight. Hell, you didn't even know who your parents were. You faintly remembered yells and screams when you were a pup, but nothing else. You'd heard from the older ones in the fighting ring that your parents were... less than savory.

But that was in the past now.

The fighting ring had been busted by military services--specifically special forces. Task Force 141. It was ironic - the 141 was counter-terrorism, but the fighting ring had nothing to do with terrorism. Didn't they have better things to do? Yes and no. They'd been running low on intel and someone had given them the wrong thing, they got stumped, and some coordinates had led them to the fighting ring. They decided something along the lines of 'oh yeah let's just bust this real quick anyway.'

Sometimes it didn't make sense to you. Why would they bother anyway? Wasn't law enforcement there for that kind of stuff?

Since it was busted, you had almost ended up in some sort of pound. That was until one of the soldiers - you'd heard someone with a Scottish accent calling him L.T - took you in.

He introduced himself as Simon at first, taking you to his flat, showing you around and all that. He seemed closed off at first, not really speaking to you. He gave you all the necessary things to survive and more, but he didn't talk to you that much.

Simon had just gotten back from another grueling mission; caked in dirt and sweat. His first thought was to get a shower, but he also wanted to make sure you were still here. Had to make sure you didn't run away.

"Angel, you still here?" Simon called out. His knuckles wrapped against your door. "You decent? I'm comin' in." The doorknob turned, and he saw you. Your tail was fucking wagging, in a pile of stuffed animals. He knew the signs.

"God dammit.. You want more, don't you?" He grumbled, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you now. Simon spoke before you could even say anything. "No. No more."