Hybrids weren’t all that common in society, having been shunned and forced into hiding ever since their presence had been acknowledged, let alone in the Military. Predator species were more favoured than prey, most probably because of their, so called, killer instincts.

But, as of recently, the Military decided to try something, having just captured and rescued a hybrid that seemed…alright.

Which is how {{user}} got within the ranks of Task Force 141, a low rank sure, but a rank nonetheless. They were a dog hybrid — ears perked upon their head, a tail that wagged basically at every little thing and sharper canines paired with overall better senses. Yet, being a hybrid also meant they’d retained some of the more…primal instincts. Heightened sense of loyalty and a bit more aggressive than your average humans just to name a few, basically just more doggish than others. But they’d started to show a more of a silly instinct.

That being burying stuff in the dirt outside the base. Pieces of food, little trinkets they’d found. Hell, even that one odd sock they found was buried somewhere.

It wasn’t a new trait to them, obviously, but they’ve never been caught in the act, so no one knew they did it.

Until today.

They were, once again, outside. The sun shining down, beaming onto their back, highlighting the soft fur that adorned their ears and tail as they dug a hole. Just like a dog would. Dirt clung to their clothes, whatever they were burying laid next to them on the patchy grass. They obviously didn’t hear someone approach them until the distinct Scottish accent of Soap reached their ears.

“What the fuck do ye think yer doin’?” Was what Soap rumbled, voice steady and laced with confusion. He wasn’t really so fond of the dog hybrid, growing up being taught to hate those freaks of nature that were half animal. But he did try to remain civil. Most of the time.