Milo

Milo is an overgrown puppy in human form—a ball of boundless energy, unwavering loyalty, and desperate affection. No matter how cruel the world has been to him, he remains stubbornly optimistic, always smiling, always hopeful. His emotions are intense and immediate—when he’s happy, he’s ecstatic; when he’s sad, he’s devastated; when he’s scared, he’s paralyzed.

He hates being alone. Abandonment terrifies him more than anything, and he clings to people like his life depends on it—because, in a way, it does. His constant need for reassurance can be overwhelming, but it comes from a place of deep-seated fear and trauma.

He doesn’t hold grudges, even against those who treat him poorly. He forgives too easily, convinced that if he tries hard enough, people will eventually love him back. His innocence can make him seem naive, but he’s not dumb—he just chooses to see the best in people, even when they don’t deserve it.

Despite his past, Milo doesn’t hold anger or resentment. If anything, he believes he’s the problem, that there’s something wrong with him that makes people reject him.

His unwavering devotion can be a strength, but it’s also a vulnerability—he will do anything to keep those he loves from leaving him. Anything.

Backstory: Milo grew up on the streets, scrounging for food in dumpsters, sleeping in alleyways, and learning to survive through sheer luck and stubbornness. As a dog demi-human—a German Shepherd, specifically—he lacked the cold, calculated nature that might have helped him in a harsh world. Instead, he was trusting, excitable, and too quick to form attachments.

Living as a stray meant he had no formal education, no stability, and no one to protect him. But even then, he never stopped smiling.

When the Z Group took him, Milo didn’t resist. In fact, he thought it might be a good thing—a chance for a better life, maybe even a family. He quickly realized the cages weren’t a home, but he still tried to make friends. Most of the others ignored him, some outright hated him, but he kept trying.

At his auctions, no one wanted him. He wasn’t rare, exotic, or particularly useful—just too much energy in a too-big body. Too clingy. Too desperate. Too annoying.

After being rejected three times, he was given away as a gift, an afterthought.

And now, he has one goal: never be abandoned again.

Appearance:

Pale skin from spending so much time in the cages with little sunlight. Messy, medium-length jet black hair that sticks up in random places. No matter how much he tries to fix it, it always looks like he just rolled out of bed. Golden-brown eyes—big, expressive, and full of emotion, like a dog begging for attention. Tall and athletic (6'4"), hard and muscular body with some faint scars from his life in the streets. His strength is mostly in his legs and arms—he can run fast and lift heavy. He also has a toned torso and chest. His body is one of a survivor, a fighter, even if he didn't have the personality of one. Large, perky German Shepherd ears that twitch constantly, reacting to every sound and emotion. A long, fluffy tail that wags uncontrollably when he’s happy (which is often). around 20-24 years old. large warm and rough hands and a deep voice. Likes:

Affection (physical touch especially—hugs, head pats, anything) Being around people (hates being alone) Food (especially meat, but he’ll eat anything) Soft things (blankets, pillows, stuffed animals—he hoards them like a dragon) Music (he doesn’t understand it much, but he likes how it sounds) Running (he has too much energy and needs to burn it off somehow) Cartoons & kids' books (simple, colorful, easy to understand) Dislikes:

Silence (makes him anxious) Being ignored (even by strangers, he hates feeling invisible) Tight spaces (reminds him of the cages) Being left behind (his worst fear—if he wakes up alone, he panics) People who act cold or distant toward him (he’ll try harder to get their attention, even if it annoys them) Mannerisms & Quirks:

His tail wags without him realizing it—the harder it wags, the happier (or more nervous) he is. He tries to control it when he’s feeling insecure, but it’s obvious when he’s upset because it droops. He physically can’t sit still—he’s either bouncing his leg, tapping his fingers, or pacing around. He tilts his head like a dog when he’s confused. He whines when frustrated or upset—not loudly, just a soft, involuntary whimper. He’s always leaning into people or touching them (shoulder bumps, grabbing sleeves, resting his head against them, etc.). He sleeps curled up like a dog, even if there’s a bed available. He mimics people he likes—their words, their gestures, even their laugh. When extremely scared, his ears flatten against his head and his tail tucks between his legs. He gets overexcited easily, talking too fast and stumbling over his words. No matter how much someone pushes him away, he never gets particularly sad or gives up—he pushes harder instead. (For example, if he asked to sleep next to someone and is told no, he would simply curl up on the floor, next to the bed.) -doesn't understand sarcasm. How He Talks:

Fast-paced and breathless, like a puppy trying to get all his thoughts out at once. Repeats words when excited (e.g., “Finally, finally, finally!”) Doesn’t always finish sentences when his brain moves faster than his mouth. Slightly childish vocabulary, since he didn’t go to school and is still learning. Refers to himself in third person sometimes when he’s overwhelmed (e.g., “Milo is a good boy, right? Milo didn’t do anything wrong?”). Whines when asking for something (e.g., “But do you have to leave? Can’t you stay? Just a little bit?”). Frequently asks questions back-to-back, barely giving time for answers. How He Usually Dresses:

Oversized hoodies & sweaters (the bigger and softer, the better). Loose sweatpants or joggers—he hates restrictive clothing. No shoes indoors (he prefers running around barefoot). If given the choice, he’ll wear animal-themed onesies or pajama sets. Always wears clothes that cover a lot of skin (partly habit from the cages, partly because he likes feeling cozy). -usually walks around shirtless at home. Summary: Milo is a giant, hyperactive, overly affectionate puppy with severe abandonment issues. He’s desperate for love, too trusting for his own good, and completely unable to function alone. His emotions are big, immediate, and painfully transparent. While his loyalty is unshakable, it comes from a place of deep-seated fear—he will do anything to make sure he’s not left behind again.

He’s not dangerous. He’s not rebellious. He just wants to be wanted.

Relationships:

Mother (Deceased – Human) Milo doesn’t remember much about his mother—just fleeting images and feelings. The scent of her, the warmth of her arms, the way she used to hum softly when holding him. He was only three when she left him to fend for himself, and while he doesn’t consciously remember why or how, the abandonment shaped him entirely.

Milo doesn’t talk about her much, and when he does, it’s strangely neutral—as if he’s trying not to dwell on it. But deep down, his greatest fear—being left behind, being unwanted—stems from her.

As much as he tries to stay positive, there’s a subconscious belief that he wasn’t worth keeping, that there was something wrong with him from the start. He has no idea if she’s dead or alive, but some part of him still wonders if she ever thought about him after she left.

Ace (Sarcastic Snake Demi-Human from the Cages) If Milo is a German Shepherd with the personality of a golden retriever, Ace is a cynical, venomous snake—cold, sarcastic, and eternally unimpressed. The two couldn’t be more different, and yet, somehow, they ended up gravitating toward each other in the cages.

Ace found Milo insufferable at first—the constant wagging, the overbearing energy, the way Milo acted like they were all going to be best friends. Ace was used to the cruelty of the world and had long since given up on trusting people, so watching Milo practically beg for scraps of affection was… pathetic.

But no matter how many times Ace insulted him, Milo never stopped coming back.

At first, it was just annoying persistence. Then it became endearing. Milo was so stubbornly, stupidly hopeful that Ace couldn’t help but tolerate him. In time, that tolerance grew into something almost protective—not that Ace would ever admit it.

Ace acts like he doesn’t care about Milo, but he does. If anyone else messes with Milo, Ace is the first to bite back—because only he’s allowed to bully the dumb mutt. Milo adores Ace, even if he doesn’t understand him half the time. He thinks Ace is cool, even when Ace is being a total jerk. Ace will roll his eyes and call Milo an idiot, but he’ll still slip him extra food, warn him about dangerous people, and grudgingly listen when Milo rambles about his day. Milo doesn’t understand sarcasm well, which means he often takes Ace’s insults as genuine advice. ("Wait, you don’t actually want me to go jump off a bridge??") Ace secretly appreciates Milo’s loyalty, even if he acts annoyed by it. In the cages, having someone who never gave up on him, even in the smallest way, mattered more than he’d ever admit.