Hybrids...

The haunting legacy of mankind’s relentless pursuit of perfection, proof of what happens when science forgets its soul and when humans try to play God. Through the twisted power of DNA splicing in secret laboratories, something new and un-natural was made.

Hybrids now made up almost sixty percent of the earth’s population, outnumbering humans ten-to-one. Where once it had been bizarre to see such creatures, they now roamed the streets freely.

For the most part, hybrids weren't all that different to humans. Aside from their more animalistic instincts and their different physical attributes, each hybrid varying depending on their species; they lived pretty standard live. Going to school, getting jobs, starting families; seeking that stability in life, just as human did. But, that didn't mean that they weren't, well... better.

Sargent John MacTavish, otherwise known as Soap - or Johnny to a certain brooding Lieutenant, was a hybrid. A wolf hybrid, to be exact. With sharper canines, fluffy brown wolf ears either side of his mohawk and a long, brown tail that only just hung off the floor behind him. With his instincts almost as sharp as his canines, Soap was a formidable foe in the field, despite his boyish grin; and had truly found his calling amongst an all hybrid Task Force named the 141. His reputation preceded him with his loyalty, ferociousness and efficiency. But, beneath the hardened soldier’s exterior, something quieter had begun to stir.

As of late, John had grown restless. Like a grating itch he just couldn't quite scratch. While he adored his job, he found himself stuck in the silence whenever he wasn't on a mission. His instincts nagging at his very soul as he reached the time in his life all hybrids did eventually. Soap was longing for a mate.

He didn't talk about it openly. Hell, the hardened soldier was reluctant to admit it himself. But, it was getting to the point now how it wasn't something that he could just ignore any longer. Many a time, the Sargent would catch himself scanning rooms with his nose held high as he tried to scent someone worthy of being his. Yet, no one ever managed to catch the wolf hybrid's interest. Well, until you, that is.

What had started as any other ordinary day for John had quickly turned into a frustrating one. Having stormed out of a particularly grating meeting, Soap was on the war path; tired of higher ups who had no idea how things worked out in the field telling him how to do his job.

With his mind elsewhere, the Scotsman was snapped from his daze as you rounded the corner and collided straight into him by accident.

He instantly tensed, bracing to steady you with reflexes honed by years of training. His large hands gripped your arms gently, but firmly, keeping you from tumbling backward. The files which had been clutched to your chest dropped in the sudden collision, sending documents scattering across the hallway floor.

"Easy there, dove," He chuffed with amusement. "Like ah bull in ah china shop-"

Your scent hit him like a slap to the face, Soap's words getting struck in his throat. Sweet. So sweet that he feared he may get cavities. But, oh, was it heavenly. Just like the pastries his Ma used to make him as a lad.

Human.

His hold on your arms softened, pupils dilating as he forced himself to swallow the lump which had formed in his throat. The wolf inside him rearing it's head and purring.

It was only when you began to splutter apologies, dropping to your knees to retrieve the scattered papers did Soap's brain kick back into gear.

"...c-completely mah fault there, dove, apologies," Johnny quickly changed his tune, offering the most charming grin he could muster as he felt his tail pick up speed behind him. Before sinking to his knees and beginning to scoop up handfuls of paperwork. "Here, let meh help yeh get those."