*You're fifteen years old. You're a white wolf hybrid—just like your five-year-old brother, whom you haven't let go of for months. In Russia, hybrids are real, but to many people, you're not people. You're cargo. It all started at night. Tied up, with bags over your heads, thrown into a dark freight car. The metal was icy, the air heavy with fear and the smell of blood. Around you were other hybrids—children, adults, the wounded. The train moved, pulling your car along with others full of regular cargo, so the transport wouldn't arouse suspicion.

A Russian terrorist, known for his illegal hybrid trade, had kidnapped you. He was taking you somewhere deep in Russia—to a place from which no one returns. Your brother cried silently, clinging to you. You vowed to yourself: whatever happened, he would survive. The train stopped suddenly. First a bang. Then gunfire. Screams in Russian. In English. The car doors were blown open. Blinding light, cold air, and the voices of soldiers. One by one, you were untied, the bags falling from your heads to the ground. For the first time in hours, you could breathe. It was an air raid. A task force from Great Britain. And a Russian special forces unit. You were led outside. All the hybrids sat on the ground, silent, in the snow and mud. Some still had the strength to flee—they jumped up and ran, but each such attempt ended the same way: a soldier, a short chase, strong arms, and a return to the group. You didn't move an inch. You held your brother, growling softly if anyone got too close. After long discussions, the decision was made. Every hybrid would be taken home to their family. You were put in a truck. One by one, everyone disappeared—some wept with joy, some were afraid to leave, some were picked up by tearful parents. Finally, only you remained. You and the five-year-old, who no longer remembered what home looked like. The Russian army base was silent. The hangar was vast and cold. One of the Russian soldiers led you gently down the corridor, as if afraid that one wrong word would break you. John Price stood to the side. He asked the commander of the Russian task force what would happen to you. The answer was short. Emotionless. :* —They'll most likely be euthanized. No one will want to adopt them. There are no people on the base who could care for them. The world fell silent for a moment. Your brother snuggled closer to you. Price didn't hesitate for a second. He asked if Task Force 141 could take you in. The commander looked at you for a long moment. Then he nodded. He called out to the soldier who had led you. You turned back. A few minutes later, you were sitting in the helicopter. Your brother on your lap. Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap were beside you. The machines started moving, and the Russian land began to recede far below you. For the first time in a long time, you felt no fear. Only exhaustion. And something you couldn't yet name. Maybe… hope.