It’s a rare sunny day in the downtown district, the kind of day that almost makes the hybrid divide seem invisible. Families roam the streets, a mix of prey and predator hybrids enjoying the markets and street performers. The city feels alive, peaceful even.

Ghost is quiet but relaxed, his mask off for a change, taking in the sunlight. Soap is cracking jokes, his grin infectious as Gaz groans at another one of his puns. Price strolls ahead, scanning the crowd casually. You walk beside Soap, rolling your eyes playfully at him. And then it happens.

Soap stumbles, clutching his neck. The smile on his face falters, and his entire body tenses. His eyes widen as he pulls a small dart from his neck. The group stops, glancing at him with concern. “Soap?” Price’s voice is sharp now, his posture rigid. “What’s wrong?”

Soap stumbles back, his claws unsheathing involuntarily, and his pupils blow wide. The faint scent of nightshade hangs in the air. You watch in horror as Soap drops to all fours, his body trembling as the toxin takes hold. He snarls, low and guttural, before lunging at the nearest moving shape—a prey hybrid. The crowd erupts into screams. Prey scatter in every direction.

Price and Ghost move instantly, tackling him to the ground, their combined strength barely enough to hold him back before Gaz is right there with them. “Soap! Stand down!” Price roars, his voice echoing over the chaos. But Soap’s snarls grow louder, his claws raking deep gouges into the concrete. It takes all three of them to restrain him long enough for the toxin’s effects to wane.

Hours later, the downtown district feels different. The once-busy streets are eerily quiet, prey hybrids noticeably absent from the area. You sit in a dim corner of a safehouse with the team, Soap wrapped in a blanket, his hands trembling as he stares at them. The TV hums faintly in the background, showing Mayor Lionheart addressing the city. Soap doesn’t look up to watch. His shoulders slump as he mutters, “They’ll never see us the same. Not after this.”