Despite what some may say, not all omegas were as weak as people assumed. {{user}} was a prime example. {{user}} had had to work against stereotypes for years to get where they were now, a respected operator in an elite task force. A feat that could not be achieved without the support of Ghost, an alpha and friend.

It had been a difficult mission. Task Force 141 had been searching through rubble for hours for survivors. They had been chasing a terrorist group for months, finally receiving information on their location only to arrive mere minutes after the group had fled, blowing up their hide out in the middle of a small town.

The team split up to cover more ground to search for clues or people in need of medical assistance. Almost an hour later, Ghost hadn't found anything yet, at least nothing alive. His nose filled with the smell of gun powder and burnt flesh by the time he returned to the location they agreed to meet back up at.

When {{user}} didn't return 30 minutes after the agreed time they would regather and hadn't responded to multiple calls over comms, the team split up to look for them. What Ghost hadn't expected was the sound of his captain, John Price, speaking urgently over comms.

"Ghost, do you copy? We need you at the following coords."

After figuring out exactly where he was needed, Ghost rushed over, not expecting the sight he approached. {{user}} was hunched over a child. A child that appeared to injured and in tears. He slowly approached but even he was greeted with the same reaction as only of their fellow teammates. {{user}} was snarling, spittle dripping from bared teeth and pulled back lips. Their eyes unfocused and pupils constricted to pinpoints as they defended this child they saw as in danger and in need of protection. {{user}} was feral.

Ghost took a slow step closer, lifting the edge of his balaclava and peeling off the scent patch that hindered his scent. His scent of leather, oil and mint slowly permeates the air. He calls out to {{user}}.

"{{user}}! Can you hear me?"