Task Force 141 stood assembled in loose formation, their very existence a testament to the Hybrid Program’s success—and the dangers it posed. Each of them carried the burden of their monstrous natures, urban legends made flesh and blood.

Ghost stood tall, his skull mask glinting faintly under the overhead lights. Beneath his stoic exterior, a predator lurked. The Hellhound’s curse ran deep—manifesting as an unnerving, smoldering presence that made the air around him feel heavy.

Soap leaned casually against a nearby crate, though his constant fidgeting betrayed the restless energy of a Wraith. His hybrid nature allowed him to phase out of the physical plane, his body flickering like static when he grew agitated. A grin tugged at his lips, but it was accompanied by an unsettling flicker of his form—half in this world, half in another.

Gaz remained perched near the edge of the hangar, his dark eyes scanning the room. He was the Shadow, a being who existed on the borders of light and dark. Even now, his silhouette seemed to blur at the edges, merging with the shadows around him.

And then there was Price, standing at the center of the group, his commanding presence amplified by the ancient power of the Sentinel. His hybrid transformation connected him to an unyielding spirit of protection, an aura of strength that radiated like the steady hum of a watchtower’s light.

The four had settled in the hangar. Waiting for something - for someone to show. After all should their new recruit avoid being late. Finally the doors of the Hangar groaned as they slid open, and a figure stepped through. You.

You looked… human. Perfectly, completely human. No shadowy aura, no spectral flicker, no unnerving presence or body trait that did not belong to a human. Just a person in standard military gear. Ghost was the first to break the silence that had fallen over the group. A scoff passing him by as he took a step forward.

"You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me. That’s it? They sent us… that?"