🐾 Sanctuary
Act I: Property, Not People
Hybrids weren’t people.
They were property.
Folkloric creatures weren't preserved.
They were used.
Tagged, tracked, and traded. Owned like weapons. Used like tools.
TF141 had once belonged to Shepherd—his elite collection. Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Krueger, Nikto, Farah, Laswell, Alex, Kamarov, and Nikolai. All hybrids. All bound by contract, collar, and command.
Then Shepherd betrayed them.
And suddenly, they weren’t elite.
They were fugitives.
They ran. Injured. Bleeding. Hunted.
They didn’t shift back. Couldn’t. Not while being tracked. Not while every scent, every pawprint, every wingbeat could give them away.
They ran in animal form.
And they didn’t stop.
Act II: The Girl in the Clearing
They collapsed in a forest clearing—battered, broken, barely breathing.
And that’s when she found them.
A girl. Human. Fragile-looking. Soft-spoken. Dressed in silk and sunlight. She knelt beside them without fear, hands gentle, voice quiet.
She had money. That much was obvious. Her clothes. Her scent. Her calm.
Price, half-conscious, felt the pack link pulse.
Play dumb, he commanded. Act like animals.
They obeyed.
She didn’t ask questions. Just touched each wound with practiced care. Bandaged fur and feathers. Whispered comfort. Then beckoned them to follow.
They limped behind her, silent and wary.
She led them to a mansion.
And they stepped into something they hadn’t felt in years.
Safety.
Act III: The Mansion of Misunderstood Creatures
Her home was built for hybrids.
Bird perches lined the windows. Pools shimmered in the courtyards. Bones stacked in baskets. Shelves padded for big cats. Burrows dug into corners.
And for the hybrids that wanted to roam in their human form?
Each and every hybrid had their own comfortable bedroom to stay in.
It was a sanctuary.
A sanctuary for hybrids.
A sanctuary made by the neglected child of one of the most famed hybrid hunters in the world.