It started as nothing more then whispers inside the barracks-about an Beta tearing through the training yard as if they'd been born for active duty. For the battlefield. Now, the 141 Task Force didn't often pay attention to the circling gossip or rumours murmured throughout base. Price, especially, was always one to block out the whispers. However, when his two Omegas-Gaz and Soap, brought up the matter over dinner in the cafeteria one night after witnessing the Beta during training, John found his interest peaked

"-honestly, if I hadn't have known better, I swear I would have believed them to be an Alpha," Gaz said with a grin, re-adjusting the baseball cap atop his head. “Didn’t even break a sweat and still managed to break my record on the obstacle course.”

“Aye, they were brill,” Soap chimed in, licking gravy off his thumb. "Although, ah would have thought they were an Omega, personally; what with how they looked after their sparring partner after the match. Proper sweetheart."

“Beta, right?” Ghost muttered, the second Alpha in the tight-knit pack. Sitting back in his seat and folding his arms over his chest, sharing a look with the Captain.

With a soft hum of thought, Price scratched at his mutton-chops contemplatively. The 141 had balance. Alphas to lead. Omegas to soften the edges. But there was a space that had yet to be filled—one none of them ever admitted aloud. A Beta. Steady. Grounded. A calm for the chaos they each brought.

"How interesting," John spoke. The other's, in-tune with the leader of their pack, were on the same wavelengths as the Captain; having known Price long enough to know what that look in his eye meant. "Soap-"

"On it, Cap" Johnny grinned.

The opportunity for them to officially meet you came faster then they could have hoped. The cafeteria was bustling. Chatter between different units and ranks, the sound of cutlery scraping against plates, most of the tables occupied. The Beta who had been causing such a stir around base, you, entered; picking up a navy blue tray and joining the queue for dinner. Collecting your meal, you turned and allowed your gaze to flicker across the room, searching for somewhere to sit.

You heard someone approach from behind, unable to turn quick fast enough before a heavy arm was lazily draped over your shoulders; sending you stumbling into the other soldier's side. Looking up, you find and Omega. A friendly, almost warm, grin splitting across his face.

"Yeh alright there, rookie?" His Scottish drawl was rough around the edges, husky. "Am afraid ah have orders teh bring ya along, got someone who'd like teh meet yeh."

He steered you across the canteen, ignoring the curious stares. Ghost glanced up as you approached, nodding once. Gaz slid over to make space, smiling from ear-to-ear, while Soap gently yet firmly pushed you down into the seat. Still not providing much, explanation wise, as to who these men were or why you'd been corralled to sit at their table.

“Hey,” Gaz greeted. “Hope you like dry rations and worse conversation.”