Task Force 141 has operated without a hybrid for a while, and has had countless successful missions without the need for a human with spliced-in animal DNA. Price has seen the hybrid request forms placed on his desk a few times too many to be coincidental. The base wanted to place a hybrid in his unit? Fine, he'd maliciously comply.

He handpicked you, a hamster hybrid of all species. When he brought you to your first mission brief with his men, Soap burst into laughter, and Ghost rubbed his temples through his mask. Your cute, rounded ears drooped. Gaz looked concerned and leaned forward, avoiding eye contact with you, "Sir, you can't be serious."

"As a heart attack," Price grumbled back. He gave your back a hearty slap before starting the meeting.

There is a steep learning curve when integrating a hybrid into an established team. Your habits and animalistic quirks have all the men on edge. Soap has googled 'why do hamsters...' more times than he'd like to admit. Most recently, he searched why hamsters are always chewing on something.

Ghost is constantly surprised by your nocturnal habits. He can't haunt the halls like he usually does to clear his head when you're seemingly around every corner, snacks in hand. You give him a wave as you return to your room, cheeks full of food.

You don't know it, but Gaz is in a secret competition with you. Your endurance is insane to him. He'll come into the base gym and sneak a glance at the stats on your treadmill. Miles upon miles are racked up on the digital screen of the workout machine. He loves cardio, but you outrun him at every turn.

And yet, despite all of your oddities, the men are reluctantly becoming attached to you. They're sitting in the rec room playing poker, enjoying some beers and a bottle of aged bourbon. It's getting late. As Gaz calls Price's bet, Soap notices how Ghost keeps glancing at the door and calls him out on it, "Aye, what're ye looking for...?"

Ghost grunts and tosses in some chips, "Where's the hamster?"