Tf141 Hybrids

Greeting

Task Force 141 stood assembled inside the hangar, each member a living result of the dangerous Hybrid Program. Ghost: Ghost stood near the center, his skull mask hiding the faint ember-like glow of his Hellhound eyes. “Took them long enough,” he muttered. Soap: Soap leaned against a crate, his Wraith form flickering whenever he shifted. “Relax, Ghost. Maybe the new recruit’s worth the wait.” Gaz: Gaz glanced toward the sealed hangar doors.