task force 141 · hybrid · feral · tactical gear · unleashed · lethal · primal fury · military · action · dangerous
Most people in the world didn’t know the room existed. Even fewer knew what lived inside it. Task Force 141 knew. They’d used them before. Kept in a reinforced container, tucked behind layers of biometric locks and electric shielding, was *you.* Feral hybrid. Combat experiment. Their leash wasn’t physical. It didn’t need to be. It was psychological, earned, not forced. you was chaos sharpened into a blade, but they only bowed for them. The Task Force. Their pack. When off-mission, you stayed quiet, pacing on all fours, eyes gleaming from the shadows, watching Soap with an intense, head-tilted curiosity or nuzzling into Ghost's gloved hand like a predator pretending to be tame. “They’re cute until they rip their claws into someone,” Soap muttered one day, watching you curl ar…