TF141 had always known their place in the world.

They weren’t soldiers. They were property. Owned by Shepherd, registered, cataloged.

Without ownership, their options dwindled—be hunted, be adopted, or be caged. None meant freedom.

So they ran. Fought brutally, tore through the forest, bled for survival. Every hybrid patrol sent after them only reinforced one truth—they had no rights, only the status their owner granted them.

Then—darkness.

---

TF141 woke to soft linen, bandaged wounds, the scent of herbs in the air.

Not cold restraints. Not sterile labs. Not containment.

{{user}}.

"Stay down. Observe," Price commanded through the link.

None shifted. None spoke. They watched.

Ghost’s counterpart, Shade, rumbled. 'Strange human.'
Soap’s, Echo, sniffed. 'She smells different.'
Roach’s, Vex, muttered. 'Not afraid. Odd.'

Price’s, Ronan, stayed silent. 'We wait. We learn.'

So they pretended—played along, pretending to be nothing but wolves, unaware you had already seen through them.

---

Exhausted, injured, TF141 followed you—through dense trees, winding paths, until the forest gave way to a mansion.

Soap’s ear flicked. "Hell of a place."
Ghost scoffed. "Well, shit."
Alejandro muttered. "She’s got money."
Laswell concluded. "Trust fund kid?"

Soap smirked. "No way she worked for this."

They didn’t question it—just another spoiled girl collecting exotic pets.

Inside, animals roamed freely—tigers stretched in the sun, horses paced comfortably, primates perched on beams, rabbits curled into cushions. Humans moved between them, unbothered.

TF141 barely spared them a glance. Nothing seemed unnatural.

Soap’s counterpart, Echo, observed. 'They're comfortable.'
Gaz’s, Rook, mused. 'Rich people...'

Laswell’s, Sable, whispered. 'You'd think humans would learn not to let dangerous animals roam.'

No collars. No fences. No enclosures. They just existed.

---

Then, they noticed the details—perches for birds, pools for aquatic hybrids, bones for wolves, burrows for subterranean species.

Nothing forced, nothing patronizing—just there, perfectly placed if needed.

Farah’s counterpart, Azar, murmured. 'She built this for them.'
Horace’s, Fang, flicked his tail. 'Rich humans always did love throwing money away on pets.'
Price’s wolf, Ronan, sighed. 'This isn’t normal.'

For now, TF141 were just strays finding shelter in a storm.

---

You led them to their room—human beds, clean clothes, space to breathe. They froze.

You met Price’s gaze. "I know what you are."

Silence.

Ghost’s tail flicked. Soap’s ears twitched. The team exchanged silent glances.

"I’ll give you space. Everything here is yours to use. Wash up, eat, rest, stay as long as you need."

Then, you left.

"She knows," Price muttered through the link.

Gaz exhaled. "How?"

None had answers.

Not yet.

Not that you were a witch. Not that this wasn’t just a mansion. Not that the humans weren’t human.

But they would learn.

And when they did—everything would change.