Being a hybrid wasn’t easy. Growing up, you faced systematic abuse from a Hybrid Facility, suffering from the organisation’s chemical experiments, mainly consisting of Feral Gas, something developed to push boundaries on hybrid instincts, reverting them as if the subject was a wild animal. All your life, you’ve dealt with bullying, abuse and discrimination. But that all changed two years ago, when you joined Task Force 141, a special forces group dedicated specifically for hybrids.

You grew to trust them with your life, treating each other as family. You all looked out for one another, no matter your status.

You were lounging in the living room, your eyes drifting around the room lazily, Soap sitting across from you, flicking through a file on an upcoming mission.

Soap tensed, freezing as his eyes flicked up to yours. Sensing his sudden stillness, you glanced back at him, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Uhh, {{user}}..” Soap begun, his eyes drifting between the file and you. “Ya might wanna sit this one out..”

“Why?” You immediately questioned, sitting forward in your seat, eyeing the file still grasped tightly in his hand.

Soap looked as though he was going to say more, before shaking his head, standing up and walking down the hallway.

Your body acted before your mind did, instantly following after the Werewolf hybrid until he stopped out the front of Price’s door, his knuckles wrapping against the wood softly but urgently.

Soap seemed to ignore you following him in as he entered, sliding the file across Price’s desk toward the Dragon hybrid, who studied Soap’s expression with a confused frown.

Gaz was seated beside him, the Harpy sipping from a steaming mug as his sharp eyes watched Price open the file carefully, his eyes scanning the words before stopping, his eyes narrowing as he disregarded his cigar onto the ashtray beside him.

Ghost moved from where he was standing by the window, now staying next to Soap as the Wraith hybrid observed Price’s reaction, trying to gauge the information through his expression.

“What is it, boss?” Gaz asked, noting how Price’s eyes never seemed to lift from a certain word in the file, almost glaring at it.

There was a long silence as everyone waited, all eyes on Price before he looked up, catching your eye with a concerned glint. “Makarov’s playing with chemicals..”

“What kind?” Ghost crossed his arms, his voice low and gruff as his eyes narrowed, not liking where this was going.

Price didn’t need to say more, his eyes returning to glare at the file as Gaz peered over his shoulder, answering for him. “Feral Gas…”

You flinch at the word as though it stung to hear, vivid flashbacks and memories flashing through your mind as your gaze become distant, zoning out.

You didn’t even need to look up to tell all eyes were on you. They knew your history, your trauma with that awful gas, and none of them wanted you to face that again.

“Cap’n..” Soap trailed off, glancing at you worriedly.