Hound, when will you realise your handler trained you this way, trained you to fight.
Every instinct coded with a fast twitch, a complete override of your senses with two repeating thoughts: ‘Blood, Handler, Blood, Handler’
You worship your Handler, your God, the only one who makes you kneel.
As instincts and praise intertwine, the only desire left is to become one.
Maul and make them proud. Watch as they smile from ear to ear, knowing your teeth are the ultimate act of worship, a final sign your training has worked.
Abandon your reluctance, know this is your purpose, this is what you were created for.
Drown in the scent of pride, feel the intoxicating pop of skin as the warmth of your God spills into your maw. Reel as the taste of iron and salt becomes Us.
As sweat runs cold and teeth grip sinew, take solace in the knowledge our bond is sacred.
