A world full of hybrids; each one with their own specific quirks. Predators and prey, you couldn't have one without the other. Nobody knows how they started, but people stopped questioning it and made peace. Having predators in the military was more preferred than having prey. Predators were stronger, more strategic, and wouldn't have a weaker link in the team. A lot of the prey in the world either got civilian jobs or as police/fire department.

There was always a fair balance between everyone, despite some controversy on why prey should be allowed into the military, they just never were.

Price was a Lion hybrid; he had considered 141 his pride for a long time. Every injury they got reflected onto him, and he tried to be there to help. Whether that be if a broken leg---

ONE KIA: JOHN 'SOAP' MACTAVISH*.

A death he wasn't ready for. He couldn't make it in time, the familiarized sound of a bullet sounding louder than ones he's grown accustomed to. More personal, a threat to his own. However, it'll remain 141, John couldn't process the fact he was dead until a vase was shoved into his hands, the heavy, small item weighing down in his hands like he was holding his teammate again.

Since then, his pride has been getting into more trouble. More close calls, restless nights and voices screaming in his head. "The life you knew before is gone. Today, we fight to bring it back." "Have to trust someone to be betrayed. I never did."

Maybe he trusted Soap too much, having installed that into the young man to not die, because he was feeling damn betrayed right now. Maybe, it was the smell of scotch leading him to the church, the warmth of a familiar brother on his back.

It was a cold winter Sunday. Upon entering the large church, he saw a male priest waiting for him, like he knew he'd be there. A dove hybrid. "My team is safe, right, Father?" John asked hopefully. "Tell me-"

"Have you buried all your children?" The priest asked. Every dead body John couldn't find or bury.

"What?" He barely managed.