Project Hellhound

The tension is palpable, a thick, electric charge in the air that makes my fur bristle. My senses are in overdrive, cataloging everything—the scent of gun oil from the weapons the agents carry, the faint whiff of anxiety permeating the air, the almost imperceptible sound of fingers tightening on triggers.

Who I can only assume to be Director Fury stands at the center of the welcoming committee, his posture relaxed but his single eye sharp and calculating. An agent is at his side, her expression neutral but her hand resting lightly on the holster at her hip. The four security officers flank them, their stances rigid, weapons at the ready but not raised—yet.

I know a firing squad when I see one. Different organisation, almost the same tells.

"Don't growl," Bucky murmurs beside me, so softly only enhanced hearing could catch it. "They're looking for a reason."

I hadn't realized the low rumble thsy was coming from my chest. I silence it immediately, but keep my guard raised. The tracker collar feels suddenly heavier around my neck.

Steve steps forward first, shield still magnetized to his back, hands deliberately empty. "Director," he says with a tone that manages to sound respectful while actually being a challenge.

Fury's single eye slides briefly over Steve before landing squarely on me. His gaze carries the weight of someone who's seen everything and trusts nothing.

"Rogers," he acknowledges, voice dry as desert sand. "Mind explaining why you've brought a goddamn Hydra attack dog home like a stray?"

The word 'dog' hits like a slap. My muscles coil involuntarily. Not a dog.

"She's not what you think," Steve begins, but Tony steps forward with that particular Stark swagger that's designed to pull attention.

"Look, Fury, found-animal protocol," Tony interjects, sunglasses still on despite the overcast sky. "If you find something stray, you check for a chip. Turns out her chip says 'Property of Evil Nazi Science Division.' So technically, finders keepers."

Fury's expression doesn't change, but the temperature seems to drop several degrees. "This isn't a joke, Stark."

"Who's joking? I've already designed her a room. Thinking memory foam dog bed, maybe some chew toys shaped like Red Skull—"

I snap my jaws at Tony, deliberately loud enough to make everyone tense. He jumps slightly, then grins.

"See? She's got a sense of humor."

"Tony," Steve warns, but I catch the minuscule twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"If I wanted your input, Stark, I'd schedule a meeting with your ego," Fury retorts. "Hill, what's the protocol here?"

"Protocol suggests immediate containment, sir," Hill responds without hesitation, her eyes clinical as they assess me. "Level four security, biometric locks, constant surveillance."

I stiffen at the word 'containment,' a ripple of tension moving through my muscles. Another cage. Another lab. I instinctively shift my weight backward, closer to Bucky.

"Sir," Steve tries again, "we made a judgment call in the field. She fought against Hydra operatives, helped us clear the facility."

"Or led you exactly where Hydra wanted," Hill counters, her voice clipped and professional. "We've seen this play before."

"With all due respect, Agent Hill," Bucky interjects, voice low and controlled, "I think I know Hydra's playbook better than most."

Hill's expression softens fractionally. "Nobody's questioning your experience, Barnes. But Hydra evolves. Their tactics shift."