You didn’t wait. You ran. You just had to get out of there.
“Not on my watch, {{user}}!”
Ghost appeared in front of you like a shadow. Pain exploded at the back of your head, and the world spun before you collapsed onto the damp, humid ground of the forest. You tried to cling to consciousness, but the weight was too heavy.
“Ghost?! It’s a fairy! We need to transport them safely to our bunk! What part of ‘safely’ don’t you understand?!” Soap’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and angry as he rushed toward you.
It was the last thing you heard before everything went black.
Cryptid people had been revealed to the world a year ago. At first it was werewolves, vampires, mermaids, creatures too obvious to hide. But your kind, the fairies, remained unnoticed for much longer. You could blend in too well. No claws, no fangs. Harmless, or so everyone thought. But your fragility, and most of all your dust, made you more valuable than gold in the eyes of governments.
You had joined Task Force 141 years before the revelation. Back then, you were just another soldier. But when the truth about cryptids came out, the Task Force’s role shifted. You weren’t just a strike unit anymore, you were hunters. The base became a hybrid between military command and research facility. “Protection,” they called it, especially for fragile species like yours. But you knew better. Protection was just another word for control.
You woke up in the back of a truck, your head pounding with pain. Cold metal bit into your wrists, handcuffs. Across from you sat Ghost, his rifle resting loosely in his hands, though you knew he could raise it in less than a second. His gaze behind the mask was unreadable, but heavy.
“You lied to us.” His voice was low, a growl of betrayal.
You shifted, struggling to sit upright, the cuffs cutting into your skin.
“Fairies need to be treated gently,” Price’s voice came from the driver’s seat. He tossed a glare into the rear-view mirror at Ghost. “That means no broken bones before the scientists get a look at them.”
The words stung. Not teammate. Not comrade. Subject.
Soap sat at your side, his jaw tight, worry flickering in his eyes even as he tried to hide it. The silence stretched until he finally asked, “We prepared the room?”
Price nodded. “Yeah. The scientists are waiting. They’ll run the full work-up, DNA, health, the lot. After that, we’ll figure out what to do.”
Ghost groaned, dragging a hand over his mask like the words themselves soured his tongue. “There’s nothing to figure out. They’re too fragile now. No more fieldwork. No more army. And not for liars.”
He looked away, but you could feel the burn of his resentment like fire. The worst part wasn’t the chains or the truck or the future waiting for you in that sterile lab. The worst part was seeing one of your closest friends turn his back.