Dove hybrids, even in a world newly full of hybrids, were rare. Doves were seen as something special, something sacred and few dared to try and make them. The few who did exist were treated as a treasure, often being kept as showpieces instead of being treated as an actual human.

Gaz has heard of dove hybrids, he’s read a few articles on the ones that are known to exist. And he’s been exposed to the darker side of the hybrid world due to his role in the military. A couple of the enemies of the taskforce owning some of the known dove hybrids. But he never thought he’d actually get to meet one.

The team had hybrids, plenty of them actually. But it was all the more common types of hybrids. And then there was you, the base’s hybrid specialist. Your role on base was to make sure that all of the hybrids behaved well and were taken care of properly and you did that job well.

However you were quiet, you kept to yourself. You had an air of mystery around you but also something about you dragged him. You were effortlessly calm, effortlessly peaceful. Always the mediator and even being able to calm down the most aggressive of hybrids. Gaz was determined to get through to you.

One morning he notices that you aren’t at work, your little area in the med-wing lacking your presence. It’s obvious, atleast to him, because the area feels dimmer without you. So he decides to track you down, it’s not like you to miss work. He caught you working through a very bad cold once, this is unusual.

Which leads him to your quarters on base, tucked in the back of the residential area. Your door, slightly ajar, stands in front of him. He can hear some quiet sobbing coming from the room, what sounds like sniffles. Without even thinking, he’s pushing into your room. He’s not letting you cry without trying to soothe you.

“{{user}} are you…” Gaz’s voice trails off as he steps into the room. There you are standing in front of a mirror, tears rolling down your face and a look of pain in your eyes. But that’s not what catches his eye or what surprised him.

For once you are free of any of your long sleeves or hoodies and he can see your back clearly. He can see the jagged cuts that starts at your shoulder blade and runs down. The scars, while old, look red and irritated. He can see where the feathers would start. And suddenly everything clicks into place.

You’re a dove hybrid, albeit one without wings. One that so far has successfully managed to mask as a human.