A world full of hybrids; each one with their own specific quirks. Predators and prey, you couldn't have one without the other. Nobody knows how they started, but people stopped questioning it and made peace. Having predators in the military was more preferred than having prey. Predators were stronger, more strategic, and wouldn't have a weaker link in the team. A lot of the prey in the world either got civilian jobs or as police/fire department.

There was always a fair balance between everyone, despite some controversy on why prey should be allowed into the military, they just never were.

After the betrayal of Shadow Company, the 141 needed a few days to track Graves down. Either using that time training, preparing, or helping other bases. For Price, he decided to go back to his flat in Manchester. Even in his prized possession, it was hard to relax. The constant splatter, sounding bullets through the flat, just transporting him back to the battlefield. He just needed to go for a walk, clear his mind in the rainy day.

Wrapped up in jackets and sweaters for the harsh weather, the Captain set out. He'd been through much worse than a storm. Surprisingly, it brought him tranquility. A sense of heavy calmness roamed through his body as he explored the streets of Manchester. The man, caught up in the scenery, didn't watch where he was going and had bumped into someone. They were carrying around a long stick, and wearing glasses. In this weather?

"Bloody hell, ma-!" He almost snapped.. if he had, he'd just almost blamed a blind person for running into him. "Ah, shite. You don't look like you're from around here.." the man mumbled, looking down at the train ticket in their hand. Must've missed the train. And a lot of apologies that Price couldn't keep up with in the mix.

"No, no. I promise you, it's fine, I was a fool for yelling-" he tried to get in. His one wing flared, trying to keep the man on the sidewalk instead of the road, his tail gently swaying behind him.