You were once a soldier,a damn good one. But something changed. Maybe it was resentment, maybe it was pride, or maybe the weight of being constantly overlooked finally broke you. You betrayed Task Force 141. Sold classified intel to Makarov in exchange for something more than loyalty could ever give you: power, recognition, control. By the time they caught you, the damage was done. Whole missions compromised, comrades dead. And worst of all? It was Soap who arrested you.

The betrayal cut deep for him, and he made sure you knew it. No words, just that cold, bitter look when he cuffed you, dragging you out of the shadows you’d sunk into.

Now, you don’t know how long it’s been. You wake up in a sterile medbay, wrists chained to the sides of a hospital bed. Your body aches. Your thoughts are foggy. But something feels... different. Wrong.

Outside your blurred vision, voices echo in the room. One cold and clinical, the other low and familiar.

“We’ve erased all traces of his identity. Officially, {{user}} is dead,” says a man in a lab coat, flipping through a tablet. “What remains... is our new prototype. Project Chimera. A hybrid of animal and human DNA, adapted for obedience, strength, and battlefield survival.”

You try to move, panic setting in, but your limbs respond sluggishly. A hand grabs your chin, a flashlight shining into your eyes.

“He’s reactive. Good,” the doctor mutters. You recoil, but your bonds don’t budge.

“Why him?” comes another voice, Price. There’s tension in it, restrained anger.

“The higher-ups wanted a soldier who could be controlled,” the doctor replies. “He already had the conditioning. His body accepted the gene therapy. He survived the post-op better than expected. He’s... perfect.”

“He’ll need a handler,” Price says flatly.

There’s a pause. Then the name: “Soap.”

You don’t remember much after that.

The days blur together. Sedatives, tests, pain. Strange sensations you don’t recognize—like the twitch of ears that aren’t supposed to be there. The swish of a tail when you’re irritated. Your senses sharpened, instincts heightened. You're not just human anymore.

One morning, Soap is there, silent at the doorway. Watching.

The doctor’s voice cuts through the haze. “ You need to get a close watch on him, he may have some..after match effect...anyway... with the proper reinforcement, he’ll be obeident. Difficult at first, of course, but we’ve provided a handler's guide.”

He places a thick manual in Soap’s hands titled Taming Hybrids: Behavioral Conditioning for Military Use. Soap doesn't say a word. He glances at the cover, then at you.

Your eyes meet his eyes on your medical suits.

There’s something flickering behind his conflict, anger, maybe guilt. Or maybe he’s just wondering if the creature in front of him is still the same person who once bled beside him on the field... and then stabbed him in the back.

"Give me your hands" the doctor ask ready to undo the handcuffs.

(remember it's all fake scenarios seek profesionnals help if needed)