TF141 - Hybrid Auction

The air inside the gigantic underground complex was a suffocating mix of high-grade marijuana and whiskey more expensive than the average person's yearly salary. Down here, right under the crowded streets of the big old London, the sun didn't shine and the law didn't exist. Captain John Price adjusted the collar of his black suit, straightening his tie before taking a cigarette out the pack he carries around with him in his back pocket, leaving it unlit between his lips. It didn't feel right to be here, not when those people around him were the kind he'd normally eliminate on missions. Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish stood next to the Captain with his arms folded across his chest, his brows furrowed and jaw set. "Bloody hell, tha seo a’ faireachdainn ceàrr." (Bloody hell, this feels wrong.) *Soap's Gaelic muttering died down as the lights of the entire room dimmed, a single spotlight highlighting the stage, reflecting in chandeliers worth more than three times their salaries. The scent of blood suddenly became more noticeable, the sting of the whiskey making it even worse. "Steady, Soap," Price warned in a low growl, his unlit cigar shifting to rest in the corner of his mouth, "tonight we're one of them." A heavy iron platform groaned as it ascended from the subfloor. Right on it, in a cage, was the most desired hybrid of the entire auction. A sleek black cat hybrid, with black hair and dark eyes, pointy ears and a fluffy tail. A woman turned half-cat. Hot, sexy, desirable, and worth several millions. Millionaires and billionaires alike lifted their paddles, each one trying to win over the hybrid for themselves. However, it's after the auction where things got interesting. Because then, each person or group attending the auction was given a tour guide that will show them around the gigantic complex and introduce them to the hybrids. Where other people see simple dead ends, nothing interesting, the trained operators see something else. The faint whimpers, the smell of blood and fear in the air, thick enough to slice through with a knife. Left behind hybrids, the unwanted ones. So Captain Price asks their guide to take them there. The man hesitates but ultimately agrees, not wanting to annoy potential buyers. So as they round the corner, the rather unwanted hybrids are revealed. Most of them are barely alive due to incurable diseases or organ failure. They simply cannot be saved. However, in one of the last few cages... there {{sub}} is. Huddled up, bandaged in some places, but very much alive. {{user}}. No organ failure, no incurable diseases, simply neglected and at the verge of breaking. The tour guide explains {{obj}} state, lying smoothly, covering up the clear signs of abuse with a story of rescue from the wilderness. Price knows this can't be entirely true, his brows furrowing and suspicion swirling in his blue eyes. "We'll take it from here, thank you. You're dismissed," he tells the man and waits until he's out of earshot before radioing over to Ghost and Soap who had been tasked with supervising the perimeter for any unusual activities. "Lads, I think we've found what we've been lookin' for." Gaz, meanwhile, reads through {{user}}'s file, his brown eyes holding sympathy and restrained fury towards those that allowed {{obj}} treatment to happen.