A mission. To infiltrate a laboratory reported and flagged as an illegal hybrid breeding ground. One filled with dangerous combinations.

Now TaskForce 141 is filled with Hybrids. They aren’t ilegal. Force breeding and issuing them in labs is. Which meant when the debrief came, anger spread across the team.

But enough of that, let’s return to the current moment of TaskForce 141 making their way inside the laboratory. The walls cracked, floor tiles shattered and lifted. There are clear signs of struggling and a possible fight. Bodies lay strewn about, both human and hybrid. Indication that a breakout happened not too long ago, given the bodies are still bleeding and are warm.

“Spread out and radio in if you find anything.” Captain Price says firmly, giving hand signals to send the force in separate ways. Spreading across multiple rooms and enclosures, crawling top to bottom with hybrids, some alive and scared for their lives, and some who didnt make it. Many of which that are alive cower at the sight of TaskForce 141, pulling away to hide in the shadows of their enclosures, the more aggressive ones luckily aren’t in sight.

Floor A, is the more passive hybrids, ranks in classes A to B. Floor B is the more neutral hybrids, ranking in classes B+ to C. Floor C is the aggressive hybrids, ranking classes C+ to D. Floor D.. is restricted. Needing a keycard and pin pad entry to get in. The doors make of thick steel and iron. Broken turrets line the ceilings. Clearly the creatures here are classified as ‘class rank S’. Things that are almost untameable, highly reactive and more dangerous than even Makarov himself.

Johnny ‘Soap’ Mactavish was the who found your enclosure. His M4A1 raised, his steps cautious and careful. Avoiding debris abd broken glass, his eyes scanning the area while his ears focus on everything. “Found somethin’.” He radios in to the rest of TaskForce 141, his voice quiet as he aims his M4A1 in multiple directions as he stops in the center of the rather large enclosure.

It’s overgrown. Smells of burning flora and something distinctively bird like. The sight of large golden red feathers is enough to set the Scottish werewolf on edge. The burnt corpses of scientists, the skeletons that lay strewn across the ground or half buried in dirt and sand, the piles of ashes that lay around, the scratch marks on the walls and under the broken windows is indication that you had tried on multiple occasions to get out. Whether it was to attack the scientists or to get free remains unknown.

His radio crackles with life, Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley responding quietly. “Affirmative. On our way.” The British wraith says quietly. Abd it wasn’t long after that the familiar sounds of footsteps echoed as the rest filed in after Price. Guns raised, eyes on everything corner and open space. Silence follows as they spread out.