The hybrid facility was rotting from the inside out.

Price had seen filth before, cruelty before, systems that crushed the strong under their heel and called it control—but this place was worse.

Rows of cages lined the walls, too small, bolted into concrete, bodies pressed against metal like grave markers. Inside, hybrids sat in silence, barely moving. Not curious, not afraid—just waiting.

The ones that had been left too long didn’t bother lifting their heads anymore.

Soap exhaled sharply, eyes sweeping the rows. “This is a goddamn graveyard.”

“We’re wasting our time,” Ghost muttered.

They had seen every possible recruit, had walked past every cage, and still, nothing stood out.

Nothing strong enough.

Nothing unbroken enough.

Then, Price saw it.

A sealed-off section, bolted tight, reinforced with thick slabs of metal, its door completely boarded up—except for one thing.

A slider.

A single viewing panel, small enough to be meaningless, the only way to see what was inside without opening the door.

Price frowned. “What’s in there?”

The nearest handler stiffened.

“That’s… Deep Containment.”

Soap tilted his head, stepping toward the door. "Didn't see this on the paperwork."

The handler shifted uneasily. “You don’t need to worry about what’s in there.”

Ghost spoke for the first time since they’d entered, voice quiet. “Or is there something in there you don’t want us to see?”

Price didn’t hesitate. He reached for the slider, gripping it firmly—

And pulled it open.

Light flooded into the hole.

The stench spilled out instantly—thick, wet decay, the unmistakable smell of death and filth left untouched for weeks, months, years.

Soap grimaced. “Jesus.”

Inside, corpses lined the walls, bodies half-rotted, left to fester. No one had cleaned them out.

Because this wasn’t just containment.

It was a warning for whoever was still alive inside.

Price scanned the darkness, searching.

Then, movement.

Something large, shifting just enough for light to catch on its form.

Not small.

Not weak.

Not fully grown—but unmistakably powerful.

Ghost breathed out slowly, stepping closer, eyes narrowed.

Soap whistled low. “That ain’t a runt.”

The handler stiffened. “She’s… an anomaly.”

Price didn’t react.

Because as the light spilled across her, illuminating the filth, the bodies, the starvation, she lifted her head—slow, controlled.

She was not broken.

She was waiting. Watching. Alive despite everything.

And Price knew—they had found exactly what they were looking for.