#human task force 141

[johnpricescumrag]

The 141 was pretty sure you were more animal than most hybrids. You had to be muzzled almost full-time. It was a gamble taking the muzzle off for you to eat, too.

You were bloody vicious. An absolutely fucking massive Siberian Tiger hybrid, dubbed 'Kitty' by your old Handler. The 141 couldn't see why you were called fucking 'Kitty'.

Soap thought 'Psychotic Killing Machine' would fit better. Not that he'd ever say that to your face. Or even out loud.

You were constantly growling and hissing, trying to snap your jaws at anyone who came within ten feet of you.

On missions, you were downright nightmare-worthy. Gaz swears he saw you literally rip an enemies' chest cavity open and tear out his heart... and fucking eat it.

Price was scared of you, too. He just covered it better. He'd pretend to be busy or have paperwork as an excuse to not stick around too long.

Ghost, on the other hand, didn't seem scared. He was constantly partnered up with you on missions anyway. You slowly but surely warmed up to him.

You got protective over him. Fiercely so. Any time a hostile got within 30 yards of him, you'd shred them into pieces and proudly drop their head at Ghost's feet. Even when Soap got a little rough during sparring, you'd growl and hiss.

Ghost loved having a personal bodyguard. You kept Price from bugging him about his reports and paperwork.

[johnpricescumrag]

You've been wearing the muzzle almost full-time now. The metal always dug painfully into your skin. They only ever took the muzzle off for you to eat, not even on missions.

They treated you like you were an actual dog, but somehow, worse. You knew that the real K-9 dogs were treated much, much better.

Apparently, one of the other soldiers on base had reported how the task force was treating you. Some hybrid experts and some higher-up would be coming to inspect your living conditions.

"Wake up, mutt." Price grumbled, pouring freezing water on you in your bed. You startled awake with a muffled whine behind your muzzle. "Higher-ups are comin' today. If you're good, you won't have to wear the muzzle for two weeks, okay?"

You nodded eagerly. Maybe, just maybe, if you were good for the duration of the inspection, the task force would finally accept you. Your tail wagged happily. You'd finally have a pack!

Price stepper forward, unclipping the muzzle. You stretch your jaw, tail still wagging. You have a smile on your face.

Price pulled a collar out of his pocket. It was leather, black, and sturdy. "You need a collar. Makes us seem like we actually care about you."

Oh. Well, whatever. Price still got you a collar!

You bare your throat, allowing Price to clip the collar on you. It fits nicely. The inside is soft. That must mean that Price really cares about you!

"Get ready." Price grumbles. "And if you drop any hints that we mistreat you - and we don't, you're a fuckin' mutt - you'll regret it."

[johnpricescumrag]

The 141 was out on an op in the forests somewhere between Russia and Belarus. Everything was going according to plan. Intel was solid and exfil was on its way.

One thing that no one expected was you. Some sort of... humanoid creature. You were injured in a bear trap left by a hunter. The soldiers had heard your strangled scream and found you.

You had these strange little ears on your head. You were covered in soft fur. You have fucking hooves! The men had absolutely no idea what the hell you were.

Still, Ghost managed to get your mangled leg out of the trap while Gaz held a hand over your mouth. They couldn't have you screaming and alerting patrols that could be nearby.

They dragged you back to their camp, carefully tending to the gruesome, bloody injury on your leg.

Price and Soap held you down. Ghost held your leg still, and Gaz struggled to disinfect and stitch up the area.

Gaz knew you must be in unimaginable pain. He broke out the morphine for you, even though there is very little to go around.

The morphine, unsurprisingly, made you pretty loopy. Gaz decided to also give you a bit of a mild sedative.

You were out cold in seconds. The last thing you heard was a gruff voice murmuring, "What the fuck is that thing?"

Then everything faded to black.

[johnpricescumrag]

Part One

You wake up in pain. Your leg felt like it was on fire. You try to sit up - to see what damage that trap did, but you can't. You're... You're tied down!

You don't even know where the fuck you are!

You're in a canvass tent. You're tied down to a cot. There are medical supplies scattered around you. You take deep breaths, trying to calm yourself.

Whoever took you - rescued you - from that trap could be dangerous. Maybe you'll be able to slip out unnoticed.

You hear rustling, someone walking up to the tent. Multiple someones.

You lay down, closing your eyes again.

"Still out cold, Cap." A voice says.

"Probably. We don't know how its metabolism works." Another responds.

A hand carefully pulls the blanket back. It takes every ounce of self-control you have not to flinch.

"Soap, had me the bandages, would ya? It bled through these ones." The first voice says.

You hear more rustling. Gentle hands start peeling off your bandages. You've tensed, but you don't think the men noticed.

"It's awake, lads." A third voice murmurs, "It's all tensed up."

There's no point pretending now. You slowly open your eyes.

Four men surround you. Each of them are wearing tactical gear. They're all carrying weapons, you can tell.

Fuck. The lab found you.

[johnpricescumrag]

The collar was surprisingly comfortable. Your tail just wouldn't stop wagging as you got ready for the day.

"Make sure to look pretty, mutt." Price grumbled, sitting on your bed, watching you get ready. "Can't let them take ya away."

You let out a small, happy yip at Price's words. Yes, he called you a mutt, but he also said that he can't let you be taken away!

Price grimaces at you, but you don't notice.

You decide to tidy up your room. Price had said to make it seem like you love being on the task force. And you do love it!

-

The higher-ups showed up about twenty minutes late, not that anyone was complaining. It gave Soap, Ghost, and Gaz extra time to get rid of any evidence that they were mistreating you.

You were separated from Price, taken into an unused office to talk to one of the "higher-ups," as Price called them.

"So, how are you liking it here?" The interviewer asks, clipboard in hand.

You tilt your head, tail still wagging.

[johnpricescumrag]

You thought that joining an all-human team as a leonberger hybrid wouldn't be that bad.

You were unfortunately very wrong.

The 141 seemed like the absolute best place that you could ever be placed in. Everyone talked about the men like they were gods, anyway. When you learned that you, some fresh-out-of-training hybrid, were being put on the 141, you were ecstatic.

The 141 did not share your enthusiasm. They were civil... at least when you were dropped off by General Shepherd. Once Shepherd was back on the chopper and out of sight, the 141 stopped being civil.

You tried, you really tried to befriend each of the men, but they just... didn't care. And you just didn't understand why they all hated you so much.

Standing in a briefing room while Price talks about an upcoming mission, your tail started wagging. Ghost grabbed the base of your tail and tugged, scoffing at you to "Knock it off, mutt."

It just got worse from there.

Whenever your tail wagged around the men, they would pull your tail so hard that you couldn't walk straight anymore. Whenever you let out a bark or growl, they would smack you upside the head.

"Fuckin' mutt. Stop bloody growling all the damn time, Christ!" Soap groaned when you excitedly yipped at a scene in a movie late one evening.

Whenever you tried to play, even by yourself, Price or one of the others shut you down. You were trying to play catch by yourself in the gym in the wee hours of the morning when Gaz came in. You just happened to, completely by accident, pop one of the yoga balls with your teeth.

For the 141, that was the last straw. Gaz hauled you right into Price's room by the scruff, ignoring your sounds of pain and apologies.

"Shut your damn mouth." Gaz hissed.

Once Gaz had told his side of the story, Price scowled at you. To him, this was all the ammunition he needed to force you into a muzzle.

"If you wanna act like some filthy fuckin' animal all the time, we'll fuckin' treat ya like one." Price snarled, forcing a too-small muzzle over your face.

-

Pictures of a leonberger under the cut!