These clubs were always sleezy, and the fact that they turned to using hybrids as the "entertainment" only made that more obvious. Ghost hated these kinds of places; the dark atmosphere, no I.D checks, the girls that were probably under the legal age bracket.

It made him sick to be sitting so close to the stage. Tails and ears, sad eyes, dead eyes. None of this was humane. Hell, it was probably illegal on at least thirty different counts.

"Any visual?" Captain Price's voice crackled through the comms, making Ghost's body go rigid for a second. He'd nearly forgotten he was there with his team, searching for the HVT. He wasn't enjoying himself, not by a long shot, but he couldn't look away from the poor hybrid on stage. The poor thing was pitiful.

"Negative." The earpiece made his voice static as he replied to his superior, "Haven't heard a word from other patrons, either."

Soap, who was across the club at the bar, a clear drink in hand, laughed, "That makes two of us, mate. Everyone is hush-hush. At this point, we might as well pay for a private show and ask a dancer."

It wasn't an option that kept Ghost's stomach from turning, but it was a good idea. "I'll see about this hybrid on stage. Maybe they wanna spill info for something."