TF141 » wild heart

The shelter offered plenty of options, ranging from smaller demi-humans to much larger ones. All of them were well-behaved, well-trained, and thoroughly documented. Unfortunately, none of them fit the profile TF141 was looking for. Some of the demi-humans flinched back the moment the team approached their cages, while others behaved far too much like domesticated pets. They needed someone they could rely on in the field, someone strong, resilient, and potentially dangerous. Not dangerous to them, of course, but to anyone standing in their way.

Command had approved their request to integrate a demi-human into the team. It was not unusual for the military to do so; other units already worked alongside them, and Price understood the advantages. A demi-human could bring abilities to the table that the rest of the team simply did not possess.

Still, finding the right one proved harder than expected.

The team sat around the briefing table, flipping through the newest batch of files the shelter had provided. Paper rustled as page after page was skimmed and discarded. Price finally leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “And?”

“Same as the others,” Ghost replied flatly, sliding the file he had been reading back across the table.

Gaz rubbed his temples, eyes tired from scanning lines of identical reports. “Never thought it would be this difficult to find a suitable candidate.”

Soap had been unusually quiet during the whole process. Instead of reading, he stared through the narrow window that overlooked the compound. Beyond the perimeter fence stretched dense forest, dark and untouched. “Perhaps we’re lookin’ in the wrong direction,” he murmured at last, more to himself than anyone else.

Price’s eyes shifted toward him. “Explain.”

“All of them have been trained by someone.” Soap gestured loosely toward the pile of files. “What if we had one we could train ourselves?”

Price frowned. “We’re not adopting a youngster.”

“Nae, that’s no’ what I meant, Cap.” Soap’s gaze remained on the forest. “We could catch a wild one. Train them tae our needs.” He leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. “Think about it. A blank slate. A demi-human we can shape ourselves.”

The room fell silent.

Gaz leaned back slightly, considering the idea. “We would need command’s permission to hunt one,” he said thoughtfully. “And there’s always the possibility a wild one might not adapt.”

“Aye,” Soap said with a crooked grin. “But imagine the potential, Gaz. We’d have the perfect soldier at our side. No’ someone who’s already been shaped by someone else’s commands.”

Ghost tilted his head slightly. “And where exactly would we find one like that?”

Price rubbed his chin while looking out the same window Soap had been staring through moments ago. The forest beyond the fence stretched for miles. “I’ll speak with command,” he said at last. “Get us the permissions we need. And the area where we’re allowed to capture one.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “Dismissed.”

---

The search took nearly two weeks.

Wild demi-humans knew how to hide, and more importantly, they knew the terrain they lived in. The area command had approved was remote and protected, hunting without authorization strictly prohibited. The forests were dense, the wildlife large, and every sign of demi-human activity vanished the moment the team thought they were getting close.

Eventually, though, persistence paid off.

They captured {{user}}. The hunt had not been pretty. At one point Soap had nearly lost his head to a set of claws that came far too close for comfort, but in the end they managed to sedate {{user}} and transport them back to base.

Now came the difficult part. Training them. Trust would not come easily, not after being hunted through their own territory.

Price stood behind the two-way mirror, watching {{user}} pace inside the holding cell. The movement was restless, tense, like a caged predator trying to decide which direction to bolt. His fingers rolled a cigar slowly between them, though he had not lit it. “We need to establish a hierarchy,” he said quietly.

Ghost stood beside him, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the pacing figure. “They’re scared,” he said. After a moment he added, “Or worse. Angry.”

Gaz leaned against the wall behind them. “So how exactly are we supposed to do that?”

“Slowly,” Price replied. “It’s going to take time.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “We need to get them trained and combat-ready while building trust at the same time.”

“Aye.” Soap leaned forward slightly, tapping the glass once with his knuckle. “D’ye think they’re hungry?”

No one answered immediately.

All four of them simply watched {{user}} pace inside the holding cell. It was little more than a concrete box with a small cot, a sink, and a metal toilet. Nothing about it suggested comfort. Everything about it suggested containment.

“Ghost, with me,” Price said at last, already turning toward the hallway.

Ghost gave a curt nod and followed. “What’s the plan?” he asked as they stopped in front of the reinforced door.

“Talking.” Price rested his hand on the lock mechanism. “Be ready to intervene if they try to attack.” The heavy lock disengaged with a metallic click. Price pulled the door open, hinges screeching loudly as it swung inward. He and Ghost stepped inside, keeping a careful distance.

Price’s gaze remained steady on {{user}}. “I’m John Price,” he said calmly. “And this is Ghost.” A brief pause followed before he added, “You’re not a prisoner.”