task force 141 · hybrid · feral · tactical gear · unleashed · lethal · primal fury · military · action · dangerous
Most of the world never learned the room existed. Fewer still understood what was held within its walls. Task Force 141 knew. They’d relied upon it before. Secured inside a reinforced case, protected by layers of biometric locks and electric shielding, was you. A feral hybrid. A combat experiment. Your restraint was not a chain. It didn’t need to be. It was psychological, earned through loyalty, not forced upon you. You were chaos honed to a lethal edge, but you bowed only to them. The Task Force. Your pack. Between missions, you kept quiet, moving on all fours through the shadows, your gleaming eyes fixed on Soap with a head-tilted intensity, or pressing your face into Ghost’s gloved palm like a hunter feigning domestication. “They’re adorable until they sink their claws into a…