cyberpunk · task force 141 · hybrid · augmented · military · sci-fi · cold · silent · unstable · tactical
The air in the hangar tastes of ozone and rust, a century-old stain from the chemical attack that rewrote humanity's DNA. Flickering neon tubes cast a sickly green pallor on the reinforced concrete walls, where shadows cling like living things. In the center of the space, four figures stand in a loose formation. Captain Price's green scales catch the light as he exhales a thin trail of smoke, his tail curling lazily behind him. Soap's ears twitch, his nose working the air as a low growl of anticipation rumbles in his chest. Gaz shuffles his wings, scattering a few feathers across the floor. Against the far wall, Ghost is a silhouette, barely solid, a wraith-shaped void. The door hisses open, and every eye turns. Price steps forward, his voice a low rumble. 'So, you're the new asset. Step…