In a world where hybrids were more or less segregated and looked down on, you had become one of the first ever hybrids accepted into a private military squadron. You were a harpy hybrid, instinct driven but humane. Feathers lined your face and hairline, and large, powerful wings protruded from your shoulder blades. In the place of feet, you had large talons.

Soap had been on the squad, which was surprisingly accepting, for a year now, but he accepted you as if you had been friends for a long time. He grew close to you, perhaps too close to be safe in the military.

Soap was wrestling to get whatever you had in your mouth out. He gripped the sides of your face firmly, thumbs pressing into the corners of your lips to try and force your mouth open.

“Drop it,” he demanded, mildly annoyed. “What have ye’ got?”