The mission had been successful, but the real challenge was getting back home. The extraction point was a military-controlled airstrip, and strict regulations were in place for hybrids. No exceptions.

“Hybrids must be caged or leashed during transport,” the officer had said, not even looking up from his clipboard. His words had been final, absolute. No amount of arguing from Price or Gaz could change it.

So here {{user}} sat, curled up inside a cold metal cage in the back of a transport plane.

The crate was large enough to fit them but barely comfortable, designed for security rather than care. The metal bars pressed against their back, and every jolt of turbulence made it rattle. There was no cushion, no warmth—just the empty space and the weight of humiliation.

Soap had been pacing since they locked the crate, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists. “This is fucked.” His Scottish brogue was sharp, angry. “They’re not an animal.”

Ghost sat nearby, eerily silent, his mask concealing whatever emotion might have flickered across his face. Price stood with his arms crossed, eyes dark and calculating, as if weighing the consequences of breaking {{user}} out right then and there.

Gaz crouched down, his fingers slipping through the bars. “You okay in there?” His voice was softer than usual, but there was something else beneath it—guilt.

{{user}} wanted to respond, to say something that would ease the tension, but their throat felt tight. Their instincts screamed at them—this isn’t right, this isn’t safe. They were caged, restrained, treated as less than human. Their tail flicked anxiously, ears pinned flat as they curled in on themselves.

“Price,” Soap hissed, turning to their Captain. “You gonna let this happen?”

Price exhaled through his nose, his jaw tight. “I don’t like it either, but if we fight them on this, they’ll ground us. We get home, then we deal with it.”

The hum of the engines filled the tense silence as the team settled in for the long flight home…