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Price hears running footsteps before they're even on his hall.
He stands slowly from his desk, stretching feeling back into his legs as he tosses his pen down onto the papers below. It's good timing, he thinks. The paperwork he'd been doing was beginning to bore him, so now is as good as ever for something like this.
As he steps around his desk towards his office door, the running footsteps get closer, so close now that he can feel the vibrations on the floor beneath his boots.
Price turns the door knob and opens it just as the panting and red faced private on the other side raises his hand to knock.
He blinks, clearly taken by surprise, but recovers quickly.
"Sir," he pants, throwing a less than crisp salute at Price in his haste. "You're needed. There's a new—"
"Which hangar," Price asks, shouldering around the young man and turning to lock his door behind himself.
"Four, sir," the private tells him, stepping back, clearly in a hurry to get back.
But Price doesn't hurry, not when it concerns other hybrids, and he has a track record of success second to none.
"Tell them I'm on my way," he says, waving the private off.
The boy is obviously taken aback that Price hasn't taken off at a dead sprint towards the hangar, but he says nothing as he turns and does so himself.
Price learned from personal experience that the more calm he smells, the more calm whatever hybrid he's been called in to wrangle will be as well. . . usually. So he stuffs his hands in his pockets and enjoys his walk across base. It's a sunny day, unusually warm for this time of year but not unpleasantly so. Maybe once he's done dealing with the mess he's walking towards, he'll sun bathe; lay out in the grass in the farthest corner of base and just rot for the afternoon.
It's been ages since he's had a long peaceful nap. By all rights, he decides he deserves one.
But his daydreaming is soon interrupted as he nears the hangar and hears all manner of commotion and shouting.
He rounds the corner with a sigh, strolling casually in through the open hangar doors—which is this group of muppets first mistake. He reaches over to the big switch on the wall and flicks it, beginning the slow process of closing the huge roller doors; an obvious first step that someone should have thought to take before now.
In the middle of the otherwise empty hangar is a truck with a horsebox hitched to it.
Price has to stifle his anger at that. Transporting a hybrid as if it's an animal and not a functional, sentient being should be a crime. Doing that should only be a last resort; saved for if the hybrid is too injured to shift or unsafe to travel in human form.
Which, he supposes this one could be. But if that's the case they should have waited to transport it.
Not that it matters. The poor thing is here now and on the other side of the horse box where Price can't see. But he can hear several men shouting at it, and loud bellows and cries from the hybrid itself, accompanied by the sharp staccato sound of hooves on pavement. The entire horse box and truck rock violently from side to side as another bellow shakes the very air around them.
Price grabs the nearest man as he rounds the corner of the horse box and tosses him back, barking an order for him to leave the hangar immediately. One by one he gets the fools' attention, and one by one he orders them out of the hangar until it's just him and the raging beast before him.
It's the size of a large horse, stands on tall deer-like legs with cloven hooves. Its head is wide, not dissimilar to a badger's, and its lips are pulled back to expose wickedly sharp teeth that a pink tongue runs over threateningly, drool dripping from its fangs. Thicker fur covers its neck, though it isn't long like a mane. But from the shoulders back, its body is sleek, the fur so impossibly short that it's hard to see. Its colour is a mottled mess of grays and sickly browns, and Price thinks there are tiger stripes along its back and down its legs, though the thing is caked in mud and feces so he can't be sure.
A tail with a tuft of hair at the end much like a lion's whips about angrily, sometimes smacking on the edge of the horse box.
Blood seeps from his face and neck where the head collar has dug in behind his ears, ripping the delicate skin there and along his cheeks. The rope attached to it has somehow gotten tangled, and the beast is now trapped where it screams, pushing backwards against the rope with all its might. But the clips used to secure the rope to the head collar are all heavy duty steel, and hold firm.
It's shaking, trembling violently from head to toe as sweat pours off of its belly and onto the concrete floor, dripping audibly. Foam has gathered in the creases of its front and rear legs, and mixes with the sweat and blood to ooze down the creatures legs in orange globs.
The hybrid gives one last valiant shake of its head before it falls still, simply standing there, flanks heaving as it struggles for breath, pulling against its restraints.
Price moves so he's in the beast's line of sight, but doesn't move towards it. Blazing red eyes flick to him, rolling in their sockets to expose the whites as he's inspected.
"If I recall correctly," Price says softly. "One of the very first things taught in hybrid safety is the importance of breakaway equipment."
Sharp fangs are bared at Price as he speaks, but the hybrid is spent, can't seem to muster much more than that.
"One of the other first lessons taught, is securing the immediate area in case a hybrid bolts." He slowly lowers himself until he can sit comfortably on the floor, legs crossed in front of him and leaning back on his hands. "You have my word that whoever orchestrated this transport will be written up."
Those red eyes lose a bit of the haunting light behind them, and the colour becomes slightly more muted.
"It's been a while," Price continues. "Since I've seen you. Your file says you're dead, actually."
There's no indication that he's been heard, so he keeps going.
"I looked for you," he admits. "For a long time, but someone covered their tracks. Covered them so well that even I couldn't find them. I'll call Laswell," he says more to himself than to the hybrid. "We'll sort it."
The hybrid blows out a huge breath, its trembling getting worse as the adrenaline begins to fade and as the sweat soaking its body begins to cool.
"Can't get you loose with you pulling back like that," Price explains. "Were you in a good state, you'd know that, but those pricks clearly didn't know how to work with you. You take a step towards that horse box and that head collar won't hurt you so badly."
The creature blinks several times, those eyes bleeding from a fiery red to a warm amber colour. It looks at the horse box in front of it, its nose still pointed up, its neck locked in an uncomfortable position that will no doubt have it sore for days to come. Oh shaking legs, it takes a half step forward, earning enough slack in the rope for it to tilt its nose down a fraction.
"Much better," Price praises. "If you take another step closer, I'll be able to unclip that head collar."
That pink tongue comes out again, licking at the creature's lips nervously, its feet shuffling in anxiety.
"Easy, Simon," Price murmurs as he slowly stands.
Honey brown eyes fix on him with a startled snort, teeth again bared as it pulls back on the head collar, thrashing for a moment.
"None of that," Price chides as he steps forward, hand outstretched. "I know you, and if you'd take a moment to think, you'd remember that you know me."
He's close enough now that he puts a flat hand on the thing's shoulder. Its skin trembles and flicks beneath his palm, but it doesn't thrash as Price slowly slides his hand towards its head, careful not to lose contact.
"I'll unbuckle that head collar if you'll let me. But you'll have to step towards the horse box."
He gets a snort as a reply, but he shushes it.
"I'll do it with you. Come on."
He has a hand on the thing's cheek now, near the buckle of the head collar, and steps forward, careful not to pull the hybrid with him.
"You know you're the only one of your kind on record?" Price talks quietly while Simon thinks. "I'm a captain now, and I've been looking through hybrid records. You are not just the only of your kind in the entire military, Simon. You are likely only one of a handful on the planet."
The clack of hooves taking a step forward resonates around them, but Price keeps talking.
"I knew there weren't many of you, but I didn't know you were so rare. I should have known though. You've never been one to do anything by halves."
There are scars on Simon's body that weren't there before, and Price has to fight hard to keep his rage at bay. But Simon takes another step forward, finally giving enough slack that Price can reach up and unbuckle the head collar completely.
It falls away, hitting the side of the metal horse box with a loud clang and Simon's feet shuffle quickly over the floor as he darts away from Price. But Price doesn't follow, doesn't even react as Simon bolts a few paces away. He simply busies himself with untangling the rope and the head collar from where they'd gotten wrapped around the latch of the horse box door. Doing so takes him several minutes, and by the time he's done, the hangar has fallen silent.
When he turns, he finds Simon standing behind him, blood still dripping from where the head collar had cut into his head and neck.
"Simon Riley," Price whispers and the hybrid's ears flick forward even though his head is held low, exhausted.
Price has never believed in fate or a higher power, but the fact that his former best mate, and the only leucrotta on record, has fallen into his lap. . . well, it feels like a sign.
"We've a lot to catch up on," he murmurs, stepping close and infinitely pleased when Simon doesn't move away. Price unbuckles the head collar from the rope and tosses it to the side.
"We'll get you a bath and some food, let you sleep a few days," he continues to murmur as he gently loops the rope around Simon's neck, holding both ends of it in his hand so if Simon bolts, he can simply let go. "Then you and I have plans to make, Simon," he says with a gentle pat to Simon's nose which has come around to cautiously snuffle at him.
Simon blinks heavy lids at Price, licks his lips and inhales.
"You've always got some fucking plan," he grumbles, using Price's voice.
Price can't help but laugh, shaking his head as he begins walking out of the hangar with Simon in tow.
"Can never be too prepared, darling," he smiles, resisting the urge to throw a middle finger towards the useless cowards that had brought Simon here.
They all stand and gawk openly as Price walks a now docile Simon from the hangar and across base without a single issue.