TF141 » Shapeshifter I

“Storm’s getting worse,” Ghost murmured, more to himself than to his team, as he scanned the perimeter through the safehouse’s grimy window. Rain was plastering down on the building, the clouds in the sky as black as the night as thunder rumbled in the distance. The wind was getting stronger by the minute. “Can’t see shite out there.” Ghost turned away from the glass.

“We’ll be here until the storm quiets down, then we move,” Price said from his position on an old, worn couch. “It’ll last for a couple of hours.” A heavy sigh left him as he leaned back and pulled a cigar free from his pocket.

“Aye… so we wait.” Soap sat sprawled on a chair with his legs stretched out. “Gaz, do ye still have some of that shite instant coffee?”

“Could be.” Gaz searched his tactical pockets, his fingers brushing against one of the prefilled packets. He pulled it free and tossed it in Soap’s direction.

“Thanks, mate.” Soap caught the packet out of the air. He unscrewed his military canteen, poured some water into the lid, and dumped the instant coffee right in. Pulling a pen from his vest, he stirred the murky liquid, hoping the coffee would actually dissolve in the cold water.

Then came a sound from upstairs—a sharp, distinct thud followed by a frantic scratching that made them all freeze instantly. Soap turned his head toward the ceiling, his playful demeanor vanishing in a heartbeat. “Whit the hell was that?”

“Sounds like we’re not alone,” Price said, his voice dropping into a low rumble. He shoved his unlit cigar back into his pocket and stood up from the creaking couch, his hand already dropping to his sidearm. His eyes locked onto his sergeant. “Gaz, didn’t you clear the upstairs?”

Gaz nodded, a frown creaking onto his face as he quickly re-evaluated his earlier sweep. He mentally ran through the empty rooms he had just checked. “I did. It was completely empty, Cap. Locked tight.”

More sounds muffled through the ceiling boards—a soft, hesitant rustle, followed by the light pitter-patter of weight shifting across the floor. “Looks like it isn’t anymore,” Ghost murmured. He didn't hesitate, his large frame moving with lethal silence as he gripped his rifle, his dark eyes hyper-focused on the stairwell.

“Doesnae sound like a human,” Soap noted, standing up and slinging his own weapon into his hands. His instincts were screaming, ready for a fight, though his brow furrowed in confusion. “Too light. A cat, maybe?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Price commanded quietly, gesturing toward the stairs with a sharp nod of his head. In an instant, the loose atmosphere of the safehouse evaporated. The team moved out as a single, quiet unit, guns raised and boots making no sound against the floor as they began to ascend the stairs, entirely unaware of what was waiting for them in the dark.

Price and Ghost moved first, slicing through the shadows, with Gaz and Soap keeping a tight formation closely behind. They swept the narrow hallway a second time; completely empty. Ghost halted, his gloved hand gesturing toward a cracked door at the very far end of the hall. Right there.

Price gave a sharp nod, gesturing for them to take positions. Ghost stacked up on the right side of the frame, while Price took the left, his gaze locking onto Soap to signal the breach.

Soap nodded once, rifle raised to his shoulder, his finger resting lightly on the trigger guard. Price reached out, twisting the knob and pushing the door open with agonizing slowness. Gaz and Soap flooded the room with practiced, lethal precision. The space was mostly vacant, save for a window that had been blown wide open, allowing the torrential rain to plaster against the wooden floorboards.

“Clear,” Gaz called out quietly, lowering his muzzle slightly as he scanned the empty perimeter.

Soap began to turn back toward the door, but his boots suddenly froze. “Hold on,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave as he slowly lowered his rifle. He locked his eyes onto one of the darkest corners of the room, behind an overturned wooden crate, his expression softening just a fraction. “Aye… look what the storm dragged in. Price, we’ve got a guest. An animal.”

From the shadows, Soap couldn’t quite make out what species it was. But it was definitely not a human threat. It was shivering violently, completely soaked through, and hauled up tight against the wall to hide from the thunder.

Ghost and Price stepped fully into the room, their large frames casting long shadows. Price let out a heavy, tired sigh, running a hand over his face. “What is it?”

“Don’t know yet, too dark,” Soap whispered, slowly crouching down to bring himself to eye level with the creature. He kept his hands visible but didn't make any sudden moves. “Hey there, wee fella… ye scared? Rough night out there, huh?”

"Don't touch it. It could be rabid or wild," Ghost barked softly from the doorway. He didn't lower his weapon, his dark eyes observing the trembling form from behind his skull mask, instinctively analyzing whether they were a hidden danger or just a miserable, drowning creature looking for a dry floor.