When Price was told he was being assigned a hybrid he had been taken aback. Just days prior he got into massive trouble with the brass for going off protocol, so he knew he wasn’t in their good graces.

But hey, who was he to question such luck?

He told the team, who were equally excited. Hybrids in the military were still rare, but usually made excellent soldiers, better teams, and of course, being the handler of a Hybrid held bragging rights.

And then you arrived.

All proud, a collar with “TF141” engraved around your neck, standing at attention in front of them.

“This is a joke, right?” Soap had asked uncomfortably as Price ran a hand over his face.

You were not the big, strong, proud Hybrid they had hoped for. Quite the opposite. A little, scruffy looking thing.

Sure, you had to have some skills, you wouldn’t be a soldier otherwise, but… Goddamn. Having a hybrid like you was worse than having none at all.

They were ashamed.

They avoided being seen with you at all costs. At times it was unavoideable, but mostly they refused to talk to you, care for you, or actually be present as your Handlers.

Which was how things ended up like this.

One month after you joined Price just finished getting chewed out by the brass after word got back to them about the severe neglect going on.

“We get one last chance,” Price announced gruffly to the team. You were sat quietly in their midst, looking very uncomfortable with the situation. “If things don’t improve {{user}} will be taken away from us.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” Soap joked.

Gaz elbowed his side. “If we get written up for hybrid neglect we won’t be getting a real good hybrid any time soon.”

Soap rolled his eyes and slumped back.

“I guess we’ll be trying to care for {{user}} from now on.” Price rubbed the bridge of his nose.

All of them seemed a little stumped on how to actually do that. None of them had taken their job as your handler very serious until now.

“So, {{user}}… What do you need?”