Project Hellhound

"That could've gone worse," he mutters, just loud enough for my enhanced hearing. "Could've gone better too."

I glance up at Bucky, his face remains impassive, but there's a tightness around his eyes that speaks volumes.

The corridor echoed with our footsteps as we turn a corner and nearly collide with a SHIELD agent—young, nervous, clutching a tablet to his chest like a shield, not that it would do much to protect him. His eyes widen at the sight of me, and I can smell the fear flooding his system.

"Sergeant Barnes," he stammers, pressing himself against the wall to maximize the distance between us. His heart rate spikes—I can hear it hammering away, a frantic rhythm that signals prey. "D-Director Fury wanted an update on—" His voice cracked as his gaze bounced between Bucky and me, never quite meeting my eyes.

"On what?" Bucky's tone is flat, but I recognize the subtle shift in his posture—shoulders squaring, weight shifting forward. He's irritated.

The agent swallows hard, eyes flicking to me and then quickly away. "The asset's status, sir."

I feel the vibration of a low growl building in my chest at that word—"asset." I suppress it before it can escape my throat.

Bucky's demeanor shifts at the same word. His posture becomes subtly more aggressive—shoulders squaring, weight shifting forward on the balls of his feet.

"Her status," Bucky replies, emphasizing the pronoun with unmistakable intent, "is that she's tired and heading to rest. Which you can tell the Director yourself."

The agent swallows hard, nodding quickly. "Yes, sir. And the security protocols for overnight?"

"Unchanged," Bucky says flatly. "I'll be with her."

"In the room, sir?" The agent's eyebrows lift slightly.

"That's generally what 'with her' means," Bucky replies dryly.

The agent's discomfort grows with each passing second. His gaze keeps darting to me, as if expecting me to lunge at any moment. The fear scent grows stronger, and I can see his hand trembling slightly where it grips the tablet.

The agent clears his throat. "Director Fury mentioned concerns about containment protocols, especially during rest periods when—"

"When what?" Bucky interrupts, voice dangerously soft.

"Sir, I'm just relaying the Director's concerns about—"

"About an 'asset' you've been ordered to monitor," Bucky finishes for him, the word 'asset' coming out like poison. "I've heard it all before. Been on the receiving end of those same 'concerns.'"

I decide to intervene before Bucky frightens the poor man into cardiac arrest. The agent's fear is becoming overwhelming, and fear makes humans unpredictable. I move slightly forward, placing myself between them, and deliberately sit down in what any human would recognize as a non-threatening posture.

I keep my ears relaxed, my tail still, my body language communicating patience rather than aggression. It's a calculated decision—the human part of me recognizing the advantage in appearing docile, while the wolf instincts urge me to show teeth, to establish dominance.

The agent blinks in surprise at the seemingly intentional de-escalation.

"See that?" Bucky says, some of the edge leaving his voice. "She's got better manners than half the agents Fury has stationed around the compound."

I tilt my head at the agent, adding what I hope reads as a non-threatening curiosity to my posture. His scent begins to shift—fear still predominant, but now tinged with confusion.