#and you get a soap

[swordsandholly]

Thinking about a mechanic!AU where the 141 boys run a garage and need a new receptionist. They hire you because you’re just so cute (great tits) and have a decent resume but it becomes a slight problem when they realize you’re a bit… dense.

Total ditz to be precise.

But they can’t really get mad when you get the keys for clients mixed up and look at them with those big eyes all teary and a little pout pushing out your lower lip.

Price is the most patient, perfectly content to walk you through how to file paperwork and fill out forms. Instructing you in a low voice while his breath brushes the shell of your ear. It’s really their fault for having such a terrible system, you know? Don’t worry about it too much, dove. He’ll settle his big hands on your shoulders and gently trace up and down your arms. See? You’re getting it. Just needed some more practice, hm?

Johnny is more than happy to show you around the garage, rattling off everything he knows about all those nitty gritty details that go right over your pretty little head. He’ll pop open the hood of some sports car and point to the engine to show it off. No, bonnie, you’ve got tae get in close. Closer.

Until you’re bent entirely over in one of those too-short skirts you wear everyday. It takes all his willpower not to yank you into the supply closet.

Gaz is just so sweet to you. Always bringing you little treats and candies to suck on. To help you concentrate, of course. Always greeting you with a soft ‘baby girl’ at the beginning of your shift. Whenever you’re standing around be it at the printer or counter - wherever really - he’ll slip a hand on your waist. It always trails a little lower, his pinky just edging on the hem of your too tight jeans.

Ghost gets frustrated with you to the point of causing tears to well up in the corners of your eyes. He’s feels guilty, sure, but bloody hell just print the damn receipt. He avoids you for the most part. Until one evening when it’s pouring down. You forgot your rain coat of course, silly girl. He offers you a ride which you take happily.

After that he can’t get rid of you. You bring him coffees (how you remember his order word for word but not where you last left your own cup is beyond him) and giggle at his jokes. When a client gets too snappy or too loud he’s the first to step in - standing behind you glaring at them with his huge arms crossed over his chest until they back down.

[simonbrain]

sitting at the bar with your bestie and jokingly saying, "i wish that was me," when she spews about how her man made her come so many times the other night they almost hit double digits. you doubt anyone is paying attention to the two of you gossiping and giggling like fools, and you share that you haven't been laid in a while.

"it's been eight months, actually." you pout, slapping her arm when she gawks and splutters something about finding you someone to shag in the back alley right away.

if only you noticed the guy with the fuckass mohawk sitting on the other side of you, intently eavesdropping on your personal conversation. he likes your friend's idea; surely you'll let him pull a few orgasms out of you outside before he fingerbangs you in the car on the way home and finally finishes you in his bed.

ten's a big number to aim for, but johnny's nothing if not utterly determined to ruin the pretty girl who's had him rock hard since she walked in.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

no more fan-ta-sizing about it! everything's already changed~

[shotmrmiller]

ghost getting himself a cute, soft girl he doesn't talk about much but is clearly obsessed with and price just thinks it's nice he's finally settled down, approves of the home he's made for himself, definitely approves of the one he's taken for himself.

soap asks kyle if he's seen you and he says, "yep. lovely bird he's got tucked away in her little dollhouse. makes great food, too." soap swears there's a subtle shift in his tone when he says "lovely", a hint of something deeper that flickers in his eyes for just a moment. soap simply sucks on his teeth, letting it slide. (although he knows that kyle's always been one to appreciate the good things in life.)

interest gnaws at him, a persistent itch he can't scratch. price likes you just fine, as does kyle. well what about him? he decides to bite the bullet and goes to simon with a knot between his brows, the corners of his lips tugged downwards. they've shared clothes, bullets, beds. if the other two got to meet you, why can't he?

"ya can come over for dinner on tonight. she'd 'ave my neck if she didn't formally meet ya anyway."

soap then asks, out of genuine curiosity more than anything else, if simon would have kept you in the dark from him hadn't he brought you up himself.

"ya meet 'er when i want ya to, boy, and not a moment before." the tone he takes is unmistakeable. his words are a command, not a suggestion, and soap instantly knows to not push further.

soap nods. "ah'll be there."

"course ya will. she'd be terribly disappointed otherwise."

yeah, he'd hate to have that.

soap sits in the living room, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light over the cozy place. with a full stomach and an unfastened belt, nursing a glass of kentucky. he can't remember the last time he ate that well or that much.

maybe it's the alcohol that loosens his tongue, or the fact that he wishes he also had a sweet little thing to keep at his side just like simon's doing with you now, but the thoughts he's been mulling over all evening since he first saw you tumble out of his mouth.

"while ah can attest to yer taste in sweethearts, can't say much about your alcohol. bourbon, LT?" he says, chest warm.

simon's arm tightens around your hips, fingers splayed possessively over your thigh. he shrugs, completely unbothered by the backhanded compliment. "can't be perfect in everythin', can we, sergeant?"

soap's cheeks burn furiously hot when you come to his defense with a smack of your palm onto simon's chest. "be nice to johnny. he's got a face that make up for some of his other flaws."

the teasing lilt in your voice unashamedly gets his southern blood pumping. he can't help it if certain things stir when someone as pretty as you look at him like that. soap swirls the amber liquid gently in the glass while keeping his limpid eyes on you, not even trying to hide the fact that his gaze hasn't wavered since your cheeky little comment.

you then whisper something in simon's ear, your cupped hand not even half the size of his head and soap has to rearrange himself from the outside when your teeth catch your bottom lip. simon looks up at you then, eyes heavy and half lidded, and a smirk plays at the corners of his mouth.

"'m not sure, love. you'll just 'ave to ask 'im yourself. go on."

you open that sweet mouth of yours, but simon cuts you off with a decisive wave of his hand. "no. you know how to ask for things."

your reaction to that is visceral, and you're on your knees faster than his alcohol-muddled brain can comprehend. don't look down 'er shirt, don't look down 'er shirt, don't-

"johnny, will you touch my pussy?"

he splutters at your question, completely taken aback, but it seems you're not done just yet.

"hands to yourself, sergeant. tha' not all."

you pout at simon, one that earns you a look that promises consequence, but do as he says.

"will you touch my pussy, johnny? pretty please?"

[talldapple]

@cod-dump @quietlyignoringyou @lululandd I finished :)

PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. I'M PUTTING TRIGGERS AND IN WHOSE PARAGRAPHS THEY ARE LOCATED IN CASE YOU NEED TO SKIP THEM.

CW: Body Horror (All), Suicide (Just be safe, I'm gonna say all. Explicit in Laswell, mentioned in Price, attempted in Ghost, talking about killing a double self in Soap), Infant/Fetal Death (Gaz), Forced Overstimulation (Gaz), Child Abuse (Gaz), Self-Harm (Ghost), Medical Malpractice (Soap), Medical Torture (Soap), Depersonalization (Soap), Derealization (Soap), Depression (Soap), no paragraph breaks for dialog

This got so out of hand. I’m so sorry. If you need to skip someone's story but are curious, please message me. I'll give you a summary of what they are/what they can do.

Word Count: 10,277

Project Toyetic, starting in 1935, was a monumental leap forward in the world of human genetics. To the majority of the world, it was either titled ‘the next step in human evolution’ or ‘the abandonment of God’s perfect Adam’ depending on what your political belief was. They only saw the success stories; quicker run-times, increased blood flow, more stamina, longer youth: perfect humans. But these were the frontmen the project put up for the public. The minor changes. Only the small benefits to ease the public’s fears of purposeful genetic experimentation.

Like other government projects before them, there was more hiding underneath. The true horror of Project Toyetic hid in S.A.S. Taskforce 141. Where the project’s more ambitious experiments go for test runs, to hide from the world forever, or die.

Laswell is one of Project Toyetic’s child experiments success stories from the late 1970s. Her genetics were modified at the age of 8 to increase the synapses in her brain, increasing brain power. She did enjoy time in the spotlight as a frontman for Project Toyetic briefly but was soon relocated to being Taskforce 141’s handler after their last handler quit in early 1998. She was 28. Her main job: to take control of lead the leftover 141 experiments in their operations. If any of her Taskforce disobeyed, became too costly to maintain, forced her hand, was defective failed, she had full authority to execute handle them immediately as effectively as possible. To be fair, she did do her duty.

One 141 member on record died by her hand; a man named Stahl. Stahl was a successful spider-hybrid experiment: eight eyes, a Yautja-like mouth structure, web production from his fingertips, and the ability to climb on walls and ceilings. While out on a mission, Stahl clearly disobeyed orders. He ran off into the wilderness before anyone had the chance to stop him. Laswell, as was her duty, followed to kill him. After three hours of tracking him down, Stahl jumped out of a tree and kneeled execution-style before Laswell. She raised her gun and placed the muzzle on the back of his head. “Why? Why did you run?” She was just supposed to kill him, but she had to know. Stahl sighed, “There’s a village, two clicks northeast of here. My family lives there. The men we were following had dealings with several corrupt officers there. I went and dealt with them.” Laswell hesitated. If this was true she didn’t need to kill him. He saved innocents. “Just do it,” Stahl mumbled. "I know what I did. The 141 doesn’t need you to get into any trouble." Laswell started to pull her gun away. “I can’t. You did disobey orders but if what you’ve said is true-“ “BUT THAT’S ENOUGH! I'VE SEEN BETTER MEN EXECUTED FOR LESS!” Stahl started grabbing for his own pistol. He had gotten the muzzle into his spilt-open mouth before Laswell shoved it away. "Stop! If what you said is true I don't have to-" Stahl lunged after the gun and Laswell fought to keep him away from it. “Stop, please! I knew what I was doing! JUST LET ME FUCKING DIE LIKE THE USELESS DOG I AM!” Laswell stopped in shock. How the fuck was he so willing to die? He was human, he had a family, why did he insist he was a monster? Stahl was able to scramble on his knees and grab his pistol. With Laswell stopping, Stahl calmly spoke again, "Thank you for the hesitation." "It's the right thing. I don't have to kill you." "No. But you were going to anyways." Stahl looked at Laswell with mournful eyes. "If you had followed protocol and just shot me on sight, I'd be dead, and you wouldn't be protesting right now." Laswell couldn't move. Adrenaline was leaving her system and she was frozen in fear. "I haven't fulfilled that duty yet. I'm in charge. I can change the protocols!" He turned the safety off. “If you want to change how things go around the 141, it’d be better to not turn the gun on us at the first sign of disorder.” He turned to face her with a cheeky smile. “Last chance to fulfill your obligation to Toyetic.” Laswell just sat prone in the mud and shook her head. “No. Don't. I promise you, this will never happen again under my watch.” Stahl’s smile faded. He pressed the gun into his temple. “Then I’m glad to be your first and last." "Stahl, stop it." Adrenaline reentered her system as she scrambled once more to grab Stahl's pistol. "DON'T!" "Goodbye, Chief Laswell. Take good care of them for me.” And with those final words. Stahl shot himself in the middle of the forest. Hours later, Laswell had made it back to exfil with Stahl's body. The entire ride back to base was silent. Laswell was greaving and her men were mourning the loss of their comrade. Before any other 141 members got off, she stood up and spoke. “This should have never happened. I've made a promise to a dead man, and I plan on keeping it. None of you shall die by my hand. I may be your handler, but I am not an executioner.” She looked back at the dead body of Stahl wrapped in a dull military tarp. Tears welled up in her eyes. "Things will change around here. I promise you all that. None of you deserve what has been given to you. You don't deserve to die." This was the only time she cried in front of her charges.

Price is the oldest of the 141 experiments. He was the only successful attempt at eternal youth and invincibility back in 1942. He would have been one of Project Toyetic’s earliest success stories. However, invincibility does not mean invulnerability. During one of Price’s first test runs, he was grazed by a bullet on his left shoulder. The wound bled for three whole months before any scab started to form, and took about one year for the scar to be fully healed. During this time, the wound became infected multiple times and caused Price to be sick every time. Because of his harsh experiment, Price was forever young and unable to die, but his immune system and healing processes were drastically diminished. Over the 80 years of post-experimentation, Price had gotten better at dodging harm like that. But the worst he ever faced was only two years before Laswell became the 141’s handler in early 1998.

Price and a couple of other 141 members were supposed to be the search and rescue for a squad of Canadian soldiers that were two days off from their planned evac from a training exercise. The 141 split up in pairs as Price and his buddy (a failed mitosis experiment with two heads as a result of splicing shark D.N.A.) trekked the area to the west of the evac point. They didn’t find the squad. Instead, both of them fell into a pit of jagged rocks below a shear cliff. Both Price and his buddy became impaled on the rocks. His buddy, due to his failed experimentation, caught the scent of blood and began to cannibalize himself and died as a result. Price was left to heavily bleed out onto the rocks below him. Every time he gained the strength to attempt to pull himself off the spike, it slipped farther into him and even started to push out of the other side of his body. He was stuck there for two and a half weeks drifting in and out of consciousness and constantly draining blood. He finally drifted into a coma just days before they were found by the rest of the force. Price was in this coma for three years.

· · ────────────── · ·

During the last couple of months of his coma, Laswell took charge of the 141. At the beginning of her tenure, she hated Price. According to her job description, Price was a defective soldier: he was stuck in a coma with no way out. It was her duty to kill him. He was wasting project resources. But two things eventually stopped this line of thought. 1) Price was unkillable, obviously. 2) Stahl’s death. After she came back with Stahl dead in her arms, she visited Price every day. She began to ingratiate herself with 141 members. She was there when Price woke up. She didn’t alert the nurses. “Good afternoon, Captain. You’ve been out quite a while.” “Who are you?” “I’m Inspector Chief Laswell. I was sent here a couple of months ago.” “Where’s Chief Pickering?” “He quit.” Both of them stayed silent waiting for the other to break. Laswell broke first, “You don’t want to know how long you’ve been out?” Price shrugged and rubbed his eyes. “Figured it’d be a long time. But that doesn’t matter. I’ve got more time than anyone here could want. The only thing I want to know is how my men are.” Price glared at the young Laswell next to his bedside and growled. “How many of my men have you slaughtered?” A look of sadness flashed on her face, “Truthfully, or on the records?” Price’s glare softened into a quizzical look. He motioned for her to continue. “On the records, I have only killed one: Stahl.” Price frowned at this. Stahl was a good man. His mutations were very helpful on the field and his personality brightened up everyone around him. “And truthfully?” “Truthfully, no one. Stahl killed himself after I refused to do perform my duty on the field.” Price’s anger swelled. “Horse shit! Stahl would never fucking do that! I know I’ve only just met you, but-“ “Let me explain, Captain.” Laswell interrupted harshly, “He disobeyed orders. I was going to do my job, but I asked him to explain himself. It’s against protocol, I know, but I was curious. He would have been my first.” Laswell paused to let the Captian process. “We were close to his home village and he strayed off course to kill a couple of corrupt officials that had deals with the men we were sent to hunt down. Stahl was innocent so I hesitated. In my hesitation, he shot himself.” Laswell and Price stared at each other again. Pausing to wait for the other to break. This time, Price broke. “And he’s the only one?” “Yes. I have not, nor will I ever, harm any of your men.” Price chuckled, “That’s against protocol, Chief.” Laswell smiled. “And killing unarmed men is a crime, Captain. I've only been here eight months, but I’ve learned that you lot tend to bend the rules around here. So I’ve bent a few myself.” Price laid back on the hospital bed. No other handler bent the rules that far. “I think you and I will get along together just fine, Laswell.” Laswell nodded, “My thoughts exactly, John.”

Gaz was a product of one of Project Toyetic’s first in-vitro experiments. Because he was one of the first, they started out with a simple modification. The genetics to heighten one's senses were perfected years ago, but they could only be successfully implanted in children younger than four months old. Gaz was only one of 14 children that survived his birth. The remanding 346 either died naturally or were terminated in the womb to save the mother's life. Out of those 14 survivors, only Gaz lived to legally become an adult. A typical heightened senses success story from Project Toyetic had only one heightened sense; sight, hearing, or smell. Because of the implementation at conception, everything was heightened for Gaz; sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch. Every day, these infants cried and cried due to something being too overwhelming for their senses. To protect the surviving children, each of them was given a 10 by 10-foot room to live in. It was a prison to keep any and all stimuli to a minimum. But this system was never perfect. When Gaz was 6 years old, the researchers started to slowly introduce outside stimuli to the children. 'To help them acclimate to the outside world.' They egregiously overestimated how sensitive these children were.

Researcher Reed always came into Kyle's room with a choice for him. "Do you want to color today? Or would you like to play with the wooden blocks again?" Kyle could handle speaking voices just fine after a multitude of voluntary acclimation sessions, but he still preferred to whisper. "Can we color?" Kyle liked coloring. The stimuli from coloring didn't bother him as much. He didn't know why she suggested the blocks. They tried that yesterday, and it ended in failure. The wood felt like too much, and the sound of them clicking together and scraping on different surfaces paralyzed him. He was able to appear happy and calm during the acclimation session, but as soon as Reed left, Kyle cried for hours. His hands didn't feel right and nothing could get the feeling off of him. Reed smiled, "Okay then. I'll be right back. Do you want the lights brighter or should I leave them dimmed?" "Brighten them, please." He was okay with brighter lights. Brighter lights meant he could see the colors better. He liked the colors. Reed came back into the room with her hands hiding behind her. "Are you ready, Kyle?" Kyle nodded. Reed instead pulled out the bag of wooden blocks from yesterday. They rustled together and the noise made Kyle's teeth start to hurt. "No," he frightfully whispered. "Kyle, we need you to get past this. In order to go outside, you need to get used to uncomfortable sounds." She took two blocks out of the bag and placed them harshly on the play table. Kyle shook his head and placed his hands over his ears. Just seeing them made the feeling of the wood grain crawl back under his skin. The sharp noise of them striking the table hurt his ears as well. "Please, no. I just want to color today." "What do you not like about the blocks, Kyle?" Her voice was too loud. Kyle shook his head, closed his eyes, and curled into himself even tighter. This needed to stop. She spoke louder, "Do you not like the noises?" "Stop." "Which noise hurts the most? The scraping?" Reed scraped one of the blocks on the table. "Please. Stop." Kyle was about to cry. Louder, "The thudding?" Reed took both of the blocks and clicked them together. "I want to color." Kyle was crying as his voice raised to match Reed's volume. Louder, "Is it the canvas bag? Does the rustling hurt?" Reed picked up the bag with all the blocks in it and shook it. After shaking it, she turned the bag over and spilled the blocks all over the tiled floor. "PLEASE! STOP!" Kyle was openly weeping and shouting. It was too much. It needed to stop. It all needed to stop. Reed shouted back, "STOP WHAT? WHAT NEEDS TO STOP, KYLE?" "I DON'T WANT THE BLOCKS! THE BLOCKS HURT MY EARS! THEY MAKE MY HANDS HURT!" The shouting was hurting his ears but he just wanted to be heard. Reed spoke softer now. "I know they do, Kyle. That's why I need to do this. You need to get used to bad sounds if you ever want to leave." "BUT I DON'T WANT TO LEAVE IF THERE ARE BAD SOUNDS! BAD LIGHTS! BAD ANYTHING! I WANT NOTHING BAD!" At this Reed stopped altogether. She started to pick up the blocks as Kyle continued to sob. She picked up the last one and moved to sit in front of Kyle. She held it out to him and whispered, "Can you at least hold it for me? Just for five seconds and we can color tomorrow. No choice." Snot and tears streaked down his face. "Promise?" Reed nodded. "I promise." Kyle wiped away his tears onto his shirt and hesitated to pick up the block. He grabbed it with only his pointer finger and thumb and held it as far away from his body as he could. The grain under his fingertip grated harshly and the paint under his thumb was too smooth. The feeling crawled up his arm and cause him to shake slightly. After Reed announced the five seconds were done (It was actually ten), Kyle dropped the cube and scooted away from it. "Good job, kid. You did well." "We'll color tomorrow?" "I promised. And I never break a promise." They didn't color tomorrow. Another researcher came in with the blocks and they 'played' again.

· · ────────────── · ·

Kyle was placed into the 141 as soon as he turned 18. Because of the insistent acclimation sessions, Kyle was able to face the world, but overstimulation was still a threat. He constantly has to wear sunglasses, noise-canceling headphones, gloves, and a compression shirt when off-duty. His heightened senses have made him an excellent marksman and tracker. With enough training in the 141, Gaz is able to 'see around corners'. He can't actually, he can see the heat waves of a body when they are close to a corner. He kept his time off base to a minimum. That was until Laswell opened up an invitation to the whole of 141 one day. "There's gonna be a carnival in the next town over, anyone want to join?" This was part of Laswell's commitment to changing the 141. In years past, other handlers kept everyone locked inside the base unless they were on a mission. That was protocol. But, in bending the rules, Laswell allowed any members free leave with restrictions that they couldn't show the public their mutations. That was easy enough for Gaz, but he still hated to go out. Unfortunately, Price forced his hand on this one. "You haven't left the base in months, son. You need to go out and do something." "And what if I get overstimulated? I've never been overstimulated out in public and I'm not gonna start now. Besides, a carnival would be the worst place for me anyways." "And why is that?" "It's the ultimate place for bright lights, loud noises, and awful smells. I can't go there." "What if one of us was with you?" Gaz thought about it. Having a member of the 141 with him did help calm him down during an episode. And they usually did help distract him from other stimuli. And he always tried his best to make Price proud. "...Okay. But just this once." Price smiled. "Okay. Laswell will stay with you. I think it'll be you, her, and just a couple of others. That sound good?" Gaz nodded. The evening of the carnival outing finally arrived and Gaz got fully decked out in his usual off-base gear. Laswell waved him over to where everyone was standing next to three plain vehicles. Gaz shuffled up next to Laswell. "Okay, boys. Meet y'all there in a half hour. Carnival closes at 0100. All of you better be back here on base before 0200, am I clear?" A chorus of agreement sounded off and the rest of the group filed into two of the vans. "Come on, Kyle. We're heading over in this one." "We get one to ourselves?" "Yes. Just in case you need to come back before everyone's done." "Oh." Gaz climbed into the passenger seat. "Thank you." Laswell smiled and started their trek to the carnival. Their time there was quite enjoyable. Being outside the base had already placed Gaz near the edge of overstimulation, but nothing had pushed him over yet. He was careful to avoid anything too triggering. Gaz had taken to wandering on the outskirts of the fairgrounds looking at the various games of chance.

One caught his eye, a dart toss. Should be easy enough. He was a good enough marksman, after all. Laswell happily paid the $5 and Gaz got his three darts. Gaz took off one of his gloves to hold to the darts better. He couldn’t hold them all at once due to their texture. But one at a time would work. Darts one and two flew easily, hitting small balloons hidden between larger ones. Gaz had difficulty with the last dart though. The texture was off. This one had something slightly sticky on it. Maybe some soda spilled on it a while ago or a kid with melted cotton candy on their fingers threw this dart hours ago, but that didn’t matter. It was wrong. It was sticking. It was too much. It took all his focus to not shiver and drop the dart. Instead, Gaz lifted his arm and missed a final balloon. Before the game attendant could ask him which prize he wanted, Gaz fled. He needed to get it off his hand. He became so focused on the stickiness of his hand that he didn’t notice Laswell following close behind him. Before he could leave the fairgrounds, Laswell placed a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?” “Dart.” “What was wrong with it?” “Sticky. Wrong.” "What do you need?” “Need it off.” “I have wipes. Would those work?” Gaz nodded and held out his hand. A wetness appeared on his hand. He vigorously wiped his hands off. It’s gone. It’s gone, but the feeling wasn’t. The dart pushed Gaz over the edge. During his walk away, the lights and sounds became too much. “Do you need anything else?” “No. Fine.” “I can see you’re not. You’re overstimmed still.” “No. Fine.” “Kyle. If you need to leave, we can.” “No. Stay.” Gaz was actually having fun before this happened. He didn’t want it to end. He could get through this. Laswell sighed. “Okay. But let’s at least find somewhere quieter. How does the Ferris Wheel sound? I didn’t see much of a line there.” Gaz looked over and nodded. The Ferris Wheel was over on the edge of the carnival, away from a majority of the louder sounds and brighter lights. It would be a good place to power through this. Laswell was telling the truth. There was barely a line for the ride. "You don't have a fear of heights do you?" Gaz shook his head and Laswell smirked. "Good." She went up to the ride attendant before they boarded. Gaz saw her slip something into the kid's hand. The kid looked down, widened their eyes, and nodded furiously. Laswell then climbed into the cage with Gaz. The two stayed silent as the cage moved around the wheel slowly. At the top, everything was nearly silent, and the lights from the other rides seemed so far away. It really did calm Gaz down. But that feeling was short-lived as they continued their predetermined path. Two more loops and the ride would be done. One more loop and they would be done. Gaz closed his eyes to calm down a bit faster. They made it to the top for the last time and the cage slowed to a stop. Gaz looked around in surprise. "We're gonna be up here for the next twenty-ish minutes. Will that be enough for you to calm down?" Sneaky Laswell. Gaz nodded. He wouldn't be totally calm, but he'd be calm enough to get through the rest of the night. "You're not lying to me are you?" Damn. She got him there. He huffed instead of answering. Laswell smiled softly. "Okay. We're gonna leave after this." Gaz simply stared out onto the fairgrounds below. After a couple minutes of silence, Laswell whispered, "You don't have to suffer, Kyle." "I know." "Do you?" Laswell was staring straight at Gaz. "I'm just so used to powering through it that being on the edge has become my normal." "It doesn't have to be. If you need time to decompress, to calm down, you tell me. I'm here to help in any way I can." She reached her hand to Gaz. An offering to comfort him. Gaz reached past her hand and grabbed her into a hug. "Thank you." Laswell hugged back and the wheel started to move again. "I'm ready to go back now."

Ghost was unlike the majority of Project Toyetic's projects. He wasn't experimented on genetically. Instead, he was the result of the project's forays into other scientific fields: biological nanotech. Nanotechnology was a very recent addition to Project Toyetic’s scope of interest, but it was very quickly adapted into a multitude of various forms ranging from healing to damaging. The experimentation on Simon was to see what would happen if both damaging and healing nanotech were injected into a dying man. The conflict between the two forms of nanotech placed Ghost in a state of undeath and changed the coding of the damaging nanobots. Ghost's heart and lungs were destroyed from his initial death, but the healing nanos keep blood and oxygen flowing throughout the body so that everything else may operate as normal. While it is not known how the coding changed on the damaging nanotech, it is recorded that Ghost now has control over them. Normally, Ghost has them in a dormant state. And at his will, Ghost can activate the nanobots to dissipate into a cloud of smoke-like vapor. He can then control the nanobots to move while suspended in the air and reform himself in another area. Once reformed, the damaging nanobots are shut off again to allow him to rapidly reheal. This process was discovered not long after Simon was declared dead.

Simon opened his eyes. The bright lights of the hospital room only blinded him briefly. An orderly took notice of his minuscule movements. "Lieutenant Riley? Can you hear me?" Simon groaned in response. Under the man's breath, he heard, "Holy shit, you're awake." Louder he heard, "I'll be right back. I'm going to go grab a doctor." Simon groaned again. His jaw and the skin around it were bandaged heavily. In fact, Simon could feel bandages around the majority of his body. He lay there waiting for a couple of minutes before another man entered the room. "Lieutenant Riley! Surprised to see you awake." He had a slight waiver in his voice. The doctor started to give him a small check-up. "I'm going to ask some yes or no questions. You do have heavy bandages around your jaw at the moment, so please grunt once for yes, twice for no. Okay?" Grunt. "Good. Your name is Lieutenant Riley, correct?" Grunt. "Do you know where you are?" Grunt grunt. "You are at Riverside Hospital. Do you know what day it is?" Grunt grunt. "It's December 29th. You've been," the doctor paused, "sleeping for the past three days." Simon's mind was racing: was Joseph okay, was his family okay, can he see them? But Simon only grunted so the doctor could continue. "Okay. Do you remember anything from after the fire till now?" Grunt grunt. "Lieutenant Riley, are you aware you're heart is not beating?" Simon didn't grunt. He waited and felt for his heartbeat. He couldn't feel it. "Are you aware that you haven't breathed in the last 70 hours?" Simon started to panic. He wasn't breathing, his heart wasn't beating, how was he alive? It was at this moment that Simon felt a strange tingling in his legs. It started from the bottom of his feet and traveled swiftly up his entire body. Simon blacked out. He couldn't see anything. Less than a minute later, he opened his eyes again. Simon was standing facing the hospital bed. The bandages were off of him and the doctor was staring at him with fear in his eyes. Simon spoke for the first time in days, causing a massive amount of built-up carbon dioxide to escape his body in a rasp, "What did you do to me?" The doctor was frozen until Simon took one step toward the man. The doctor jumped and ran out of the room. The heavy doors slammed behind him and Simon heard a heavy lock slide into place. Once again that tingling feeling took over his body. Once again, darkness, but soon after, a hallway manifested around Simon. The doctor was running away from him and yelling frantically. Simon growled. What is going on here? Simon ran after the man as the tingling started up again. This time, the man ran into him. Simon grabbed him and placed him in a combat hold. "What is happening to me?" Silence. "Answer me!" "I don't know!" "What do you know?" Simon's grip on the man tightened. "You are dead! Lieutenant Simon Riley died three days ago. You were injected with both healing and damaging nanobots as part of a Project Toyetic experiment. What's happening now is an unexpected side effect." Simon grabbed tighter. "Where is my family?" The doctor had to strain his voice at this point. "I don't know. Once you died, you were taken here." "Where is here? You said I was at Riverside?" "I lied. Toyetic's London division." The doctor was straining his voice and was close to passing out so Simon let him go. After the doctor took a couple of deep breaths, Simon spoke again. "I want to leave." "I'm afraid you can't do that, Lieutenant." This was a new voice: female and right behind him. Simon turned, startled. Simon stood there and stared down the new intruder. "And who the fuck are you?" "I'm Chief Inspector Laswell. Handler of Taskforce 141." Simon's eyes narrowed. "141 is a myth." Laswell only raised her eyebrows. "Well if it is, then we are truly out of a job." Laswell then shifted her attention to the doctor behind Simon. "You can leave. I've got him handled." "Y-Yes, ma'am." The doctor ran off. Simon waited until the man rounded the hallway corner before speaking again. "What do you mean, 'we'?"

Laswell sighed. "With your new condition, you can no longer be operating as a normal S.A.S. agent. Technically, you are now property of Project Toyetic and have been assigned to Taskforce 141." "You can't do this to me." Laswell looked upon Simon with sadness in her eyes. "Unfortunately, I must-" "No. I don't accept this." "Lieuten-" Before he could hear her finish, Simon shifted away. He didn't know where he landed this time, but it looked like a decrepit hallway. Simon picked a direction and ran. He soon heard footsteps making their way toward him. To hide, Simon slid into an empty closet that was next to him. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Simon was panicking. Of course, he had heard of Taskforce 141: horror stories of torture, imprisonment, monsters, and death as a hair-trigger-punishment. He couldn't go there. Not after he promised to be around more for Joseph. Being in the 141 would mean he would never see any of his family again. I need to get out of here. But how? There were the strange movements he was making around the doctor. Okay. But how was I doing that? Focus? Simon closed his eyes and thought about the tingling feeling. Nothing. Shit. I don't think that could've done much anyways. Don't even know the layout of this building. Simon ran a hand down his face and started to look around the closet he had forced himself into. I'm gonna have to run. It was a slim chance, but maybe it had something to help him. Nope. Only cleaning products and leftover office supplies. But scissors do make a good improv weapon. He gripped the handle as he would a combat knife. Not the best, but it was the best he had. Simon placed his ear against the door. More footsteps. "I don't care what that bitch says. Shoot on sight. She's been too soft on them and she doesn't need to be soft on this one." "Dude, watch your words. She's a high rank. I'll do what she says." "Fuck that. This man is a 141 freak. Family fucking signed away his rights as soon as he stepped into the hospital." What? "Besides, he disobeyed her orders. I'm gonna put him down like she's supposed to." "Alright man, your funeral for killing one of Laswell's pets." "Fuck you, Jones." The footsteps retreated. Simon started to hyperventilate. His family abandoned him. They let this happen? Even after his promise? Simon ran over his options one last time: join 141 unwillingly and let them walk all over me, never see my family again, and probably die for putting one toe out of line, get out of the building sneakily or metaphorical guns blazing doesn't matter at this point the scissors are the best I have and I can make do, or I don't even want to think of the last option. Simon looked at the scissors in his palm. If everything is true, if his family signed him away, if 141 is the cesspool it is, the last thing Simon could do was go out on his own terms. Simon tried to blink a couple of tears away. "I'm sorry." He knew nobody could hear him. But he hoped, somehow, his family could hear him. "I'll see you all again someday. Goodbye." Simon lifted the scissors to his wrist and slashed.

The building had been on lockdown for hours. Multiple employees ran throughout the halls looking for the escaped experiment. Laswell, however, calmly walked around. Using 141 resources, she knew Lieutenant Riley was still on campus. Down in a supply closet, covered in blood. When Laswell came upon the closet, she noticed the blood leaking into the hallway from under the door. "Lieutenant. May I speak with you?" No answer. "Lieutenant?" His voice muffled through the door. "Fuck off." "No can do. I need to make sure you're okay." "I'm not. Respectfully, fuck off." Laswell heard a grunt and splattered liquid before she went and open the door. There, sitting on the floor in the middle of a layer of blood with bloodied scissors but no cuts marking his skin, was Simon. His eyes were closed and he sighed as he heard the door open. "Fuck. Off." "Lieutenant..." "Is this why you want me? 'Cause I can't bloody die?" Laswell chose her words carefully. "I know you don't want this. And I can't do anything about it, but you are under 141's command now. You have been transferred." Laswell squatted to look Simon in the eye. "Whatever you have heard about us, I can assure you it's better now." Simon met her eyes. "Are you sure about that? I've heard some shit. Where all Toyetic failures go do hide or die." "That was before my time. Things have changed." They both paused. Just silence. "I overheard you talking about your family. You were carrying one when you passed out, correct?" Simon's brow furrowed. If she fucking threatened them, he was gonna kill her. Laswell smiled softly. "The child. He's okay. You protected him. You were the only person to have severe injuries. They are wanting to see you if you'd like?" Simon's brow twisted to one of question. "But the men I heard earlier-" "Are idiots. They said they checked every corner of this basement. I wouldn't believe a word they said." "They said my family signed me away." "No," Laswell spoke harshly. "Your family had no choice in this. Unfortunately, Toyetic feels that they can float above consequences and operated on you without permission. In the name of 'science'." Simon just sat there taking everything in. "Listen, Simon, I can help you. The 141 is not a prison sentence. You are allowed to do whatever you want." "Except leave?" "Yes. Project Toytic doesn't want anyone us wandering around unsupervised. Would 'damage their brand' and make them 'lose funding'. And I'm bound to that. You can't leave, but you can be normal." Simon sighed. That tingling feeling came again. When it left, he was standing behind Laswell. He dropped the scissors as he turned. "Can I see them now?" Laswell smiled. "Of course, Simon. Whenever you want. As long as it doesn't interfere with missions." "Of course not, Chief. Lead the way."

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The meeting went well. Laswell explained everything. They all understood that Simon was dead and that he was a part of Toyetic's experiments. That he was a part of 141. Simon's mother, Laura, never spoke through the whole process. Only Tommy and Beth asked questions. Simon was resigned to his fate. In the end, hugs and goodbyes were exchanged. Beth and Tommy's went by with little fanfare, they only spoke of 'goodbyes', and 'see you soons'. Joseph didn't say goodbye. He hid behind Tommy's legs as if he was scared of Simon. "Go on. It will be a while before you see him again." Joseph only pressed his face into his father's leg harder. Simon tried his best to not feel hurt by that. Joseph was just a little kid. All of this was scary. It didn't consume Simon's thoughts that his only nephew was scared of him. At this, Laura walked up to Simon, and instead of hugging him, she took his head in her hands. Simon melted. "Mum." "Don't. Let me talk." Simon looked into her eyes. "I know you, Simon. In your mind, you're making yourself a monster like your father. Listen to me. You. Are. Not. Your. Father." Simon broke eye contact. "I know." Laura pulled his face up. "Look at me. You are my son. That will never change." She pulled his face down to kiss him on the forehead. "Please promise me you won't go far from us?" Simon's voice cracked. "I promise." Laura pulled away and smiled. "There you are. Be safe Simon. Come back to us soon." Simon nodded. His throat was closing. "As soon as I can." Simon felt guilty. 'As soon as I can' turned out to be the next Christmas. It was partially his own fault. He couldn't get Joseph's reaction to him out of his head and he didn't want to scare him any more than he already did. Simon did keep in touch, but he couldn't pull himself to visit. Laswell had finally pushed Simon on this visit. Most of the base had already taken off for Christmas and there were no leads on any current operations. So Simon found himself on a train heading to the outskirts of Manchester and was soon standing outside of a house. Light hung on the outside and shadows moved softly on the inside. Like a cliched movie, Simon just stood there watching, not disturbing the peace his family had found without him. Before Simon could turn away, the door opened. "Simon?" It was his mom. "Simon!" She ran out into the snow and nearly tackled him in a hug. "You're here! You're actually here!" "Uncle Simon?" Simon froze. In the doorway, Joseph appeared. Laura pulled back to look at the young boy. "It's okay, Joseph. It's him." Joseph stayed on the porch. Laura sighed and turned back to Simon. She spoke under her breath. "It's been strange around here. When Laswell said you were dead, he became scared." She snorted. "He has it in his head that you're a zombie back to eat brains, but he has been worried about you, Simon." "To be honest... I've been scared too. I don't want to hurt him." "You could never. Now come on, it's getting cold out here and I left some cookies in the oven. Don't need them burning!" Laura pulled Simon closer to the door. Joseph still stared at him. "Hi, Joseph. It's been a while, yeah?" Simon kneeled down and Joseph nodded. "I've heard you're scared of me? You think I'm a zombie?" Joseph nodded and stepped back a bit. Simon smiled. "It's funny. 'Cause I'm scared of you." Joseph finally spoke. "How can you be scared of me?" "Because I learned some things while I was away. I'm not a zombie. I'm a Ghost." "A ghost?" "Yep. Like Casper. I've learned that when I'm around family members, I can't use my powers. I can only use my ghost powers to fight bad guys." "Like Danny Phantom?" Simon didn't know who that was. Probably best to just agree. "Yes. Exactly like him." At this, Joseph perked up with a smile. "I knew it!" And he ran into the house. Simon chuckled. That was far easier than he thought it would be. But at least it was a start.

Because the dialogue can be kinda confusing without paragraph breaks in this next one, the main POV Soap dialogue will be in Red. All other Soaps will have different colors depending on how many Soaps are in a scene. If there is only one Soap, he will talk in regular color. :)

Remember that buddy that died in Price’s story up above? Remember how I called him a failed mitosis experiment? Well, Soap is an accidental success. Mitosis mutations were discovered when Project Toyetic started experiments on sets of twins. Fraternal twin experiments proceeded as normal; it was the identical twins that produced interesting results. If experimented on at the same time, and in the same room, the identical twins would conjoin. No matter if the test was simple or complex, the results would be the same: conjoined twins with successful results of the actual test. Results varied wildly from the twins only being conjoined by their fingers to one surviving twin having an extra five toes on one foot. Those with less extreme fuzing can easily be separated and live normal lives, but in extreme cases, such as extra limbs, they live with Taskforce 141. Of course, none of this reached the public, and a majority of identical twin subjects were improperly informed about the risks of the experiments. John and Logan MacTavish were informed that they were to be a part of 'the first experiments on identical twins' (this was years into the identical twin research) and that Project Toyetic would be doing a simple genetic swap of hair color (they tried that already, the twins previously subjected to this hair color swap were conjoined either at the hip or had a split halfway up the spine that made them share a pair of legs with the swapped hair color only being on one of the twin's heads. Today they were going to test out what would happen when splicing python snake D.N.A.).

"Do ya think Ma's gonna be pissed when she sees we're blond?" "Na. We can dye it before she can see." Both of the brothers sat on operating tables waiting for the doctors to come in and start the procedures. Even though they were identical twins, John and Logan couldn't be more different. Since the age of 13, John has sported a mohawk and immediately signed up for the military against his family's wishes. Logan, on the other hand, in recent years was growing out his hair: a man bun with an undercut. He made it into college for a degree in software development and graduated a year earlier than predicted. "Good idea. This'll be the easiest £4,500 we've ever made!" A doctor came in soon after. "Hello there guys. Are we ready?" "Ready!" "Okay. Just as a reminder, we are putting you two under anesthesia for your safety. Is that alright with you two?" "Ready with me, doc!" John just nodded in response. "Alrighty then. Lay down and we'll get started." John reached over and punched Logan's shoulder before shifting to lie down. "You are gonna look so stupid with blond hair." "If I look stupid, you'll look stupid, stupid." "Na. I'm prettier than you." "Ya right. See ya on the other side." The doctor slipped an oxygen mask over John's face. "See ya there." John awoke with a scream. He had a leather bit in his mouth as pain flared throughout his entire body. The only thing he could see was a bright light above him. Below his screams, he could barely hear the doctors surrounding him. "It's starting." "What do you think it'll be this time? Last time we tried a snake, they split above the jaw." "Yeah, but that was a cobra that got stuck on the wrong chromosome. Python as an addition to the Y? Who knows, but I'm betting just at the elbow." "Oh, you're on. £15 for shoulder or more." "Deal." The doctors were ignoring John's screams of pain. He writhed around hoping to get their attention. They ignored him. Ten minutes passed. "The second isn't moving. He should be awake by now." "Lemme look." The doctor walked past John's table. John's pleas were muffled around the bit as the doctor continued to ignore him. "He's still alive. Continue as planned." The doctor walked past John. "Can one of you knuckleheads gas him back up? His screams are starting to annoy me." With that, the one betting on just an elbow walked over and pressed more chemicals under his skin. John passed out again. He awoke again. All of the pain was gone, but a new bit was placed in his mouth. It was larger and was forcing his mouth wide open. The doctors from before were surrounding his bed. John tried to wiggle around, but he was strapped down. He knew something was wrong. It was just a gene swap. Nobody said it was supposed to be that painful. His attention soon snapped to the head doctor. "Who are you?" John snarled at him. They were the ones operating on him and they didn't even know his name. "Which one are you?" John couldn't speak with the object in his mouth but he did his best. "Where is Logan?" John shook his head. How the fuck should he know? The doctor looked up at his fellow doctors. "Check again. He can't be-" The doctor hesitated, not wanting to spill anything. "Something has to be wrong." "Unless you want to cut him open and check his guts, everything is perfect. No defects." "An internal conjoin? That's never happened before. Put him under again. We gotta check." John started to scream again before he felt a needle against his skin and he was sleeping once more.

The bit was still in his mouth when John woke for a third time. The doctors were nowhere to be seen and John wasn't strapped down. Stitched up scars in the shape of a Y lined his torso. He only had a single handcuff keeping him chained to the table. The first thing he did after sitting up was rip the bit out of his mouth and yelled. "HELP! HELP!" No one came. In his yelling, he felt his teeth. His canines had grown. His tongue was now split. "WHERE IS LOGAN?!" John was starting to rip the skin under his cuff. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME!?" John stopped struggling. He didn't yell that. Looking over beside him showed Logan standing up but now his head was cut like his own. "Logan!" John shouted in relief. "What the fuck is going on? Why's your hair cut?" "I'm not Logan, you bawbag. I'm John. Why's yours cut?" "No. I'm John." Both of them stared at each other. Until the one standing up laughed. "Good one, Logan. I'm betting we ain't getting that money, right? This was all just some prank, yeah?" "No. No. I'm John. John Ewan MacTavish. You are Logan Knox MacTavish. You fucking know that." "Okay. Okay. Fine. Keep up the charade. We are both John MacTavish. But I don't believe you. Prove to me you're not Logan." The standing man crossed his arms smugly, believing he had won. John just smirked. "Okay then. We both say our first crush. THE first crush. The one I've never told Logan." "Okay. On three. One..." "Two..." "Three..." Without hesitation, they spoke at the same time. "Mike King two houses down. He had the cutest hair in the grade above us." Both Johns smacked their hands over their mouths. "How the fuck?" "No. No. No! You found out somehow." "How? I had that locked away for good!" "Okay, another one!" "What other secret did I keep from you?" Both Johns paused before the standing John spoke somberly. "What were the last words I ever said to Pa?" The chained-up John shook his head vigorously. "No. This is all just some stupid joke and you want to wrangle that out of me?!" "If it proves that you are Logan, yes. It is absolutely necessary." John paused. "I don't fucking believe this. Fine. Again on three. One." "Two." "Thr-" "We don't remember. We were piss drunk." The formally arguing Johns jumped in fear. Sitting with his head between his legs was a third John. "Something about the neighbor's cat is our best guess, as Pa did say something earlier in the night about getting a new barn cat." "And who the fuck are you?" "I'm John. You are John. He is John. Everyone in this room is John MacTavish." The sitting John stood up and walked towards the other standing John and grabbed his shoulder. In the blink of an eye, the standing and arguing John was absorbed into the former sitting John. He mumbled under his breath. "Can be born out of fear. Good to know." "Okay. What the FUCK is going on here?" The standing John didn't respond. he just grabbed the cuffed John and waited as the cuffed John absorbed into him. A new line of cuts appeared around his wrist where the cuff would be on him. "Injury transfer. That sucks." He went and sat on the bed. He wrung his hands through his hair. He sighed in frustration. He willed a duplicate to pull out of himself. "Rubber duck with me here. What are we missing?" The new duplicate got up and started to pace. "Talk to me. Go over what we know already again."

Another sigh. "Something wrong happened during the experiment. After the live autopsy, we woke up with two of us in this room. We went through the same argument that just happened again. We figured out we were both John after five questions. Soon after, cuffed was absorbed by standing and we started testing after that. We've figured out that we duplicate by either a fear responce or just a thought. We can only absorb one another via purposeful touch. Duplicates can make duplicates. Knowledge can only transfer from duplicate to duplicate after absorption. Injuries transfer as well." The other John stopped pacing. "How about limits?" John looked up. "Limits?" "How many can we make?" "Good idea." He went and stood up. "You start the chain. Sound off. I'm one." The other John nodded. "Two." John watched as more Johns appeared in the room. "Three" "Four" "Five" "Six" "Seven" "Eight" All of the Johns keeled over in pain before another could appear in the room. "Eight of us." All of them were groaning in pain. "Good to know." "Okay. Form up to three. Need more brainstorming." Soon there were only three Johns in the room. "So we all felt that. Limit of eight Johns. Next question of mine, and I know you two will think it's extreme, but what about death?" "Yeah, that is extreme." "He's got a point though. Do we all feel it? Can we absorb our own dead bodies?" "I know, but he didn't have to voice it out loud. Sounds extreme saying it out loud." "That's what I said!" "Oh shut up. But we do need to figure that out. Which of us is gonna die?" Both of the other Johns looked at him. "No. Please." "You spoke first..." "I can't!" "Why not? One of us has to." "But I'm the original John! You can't kill me!" "Are you?" "We can't know that!" "Remember? Every one of you guys has come out of me." "No? The original was chained up? He had gauze on his chest! None of us have gauze!" "Did you absorb the original John?" "What? No! I'm the original John." "Then where is the gauze? None of us have the gauze!" All four of the Johns felt their chests. No gauze. A search was brief. A wad of bloody gauze was in a pile on the bed. None of the Johns spoke for a couple of minutes. "So none of us are the original?" "That answers a totally separate question: can we survive without the original." "Apparently." "But then who is in charge?" "I'll stay in charge. I may not be the original, but I am the oldest. From here on out, whichever duplicate is oldest is in charge." "Are we still John?" "Of course? Why would we not be?" "John is gone!" "Orginal John is dead!" "Stop freaking out. You splitting uncontrollably." "NONE OF US ARE JOHN!" A flash of pain happened again. Screams of pain and fear echoed through the room. "Alright. That's it." One of the Johns stood up and grabbed everyone he could.

A whole bunch of raw emotions ran through his mind as all of the Johns fused into one once more: confusion, anger, sadness. Through clenched teeth and falling tears, he spoke. "We are John. I am John. None of us are the original John. That does not matter right now." He walked to the bed and sat down. A hand ran over the gauze. "We have gotten off track. I have gotten off track. Where is Logan? What happened? What is wrong with us? Me? US?" John stood and punched the bed. "WHO AM I?" At this moment a knock came from the door. John jumped. A woman's voice came through the door. "I can hear you're awake. Can I come in?" "I take left of the door and we ambush her at the same time?" "No. Let's keep this on the down low for now." "Sure. Come in! I can't stop ya." In walked in a middle-aged woman with a short pixie cut. She had a small smile on her face. "No, you couldn't." She took note of John sitting up on the bed and the smile disappeared. "You made it out of your handcuffs." Shit. "Uh yeah. Small wrists." The woman crossed her arms. "And the gauze?" "Itchy. I unwrapped it." The woman just hummed. "Tell you what Sergeant, we are gonna play a game of questions. But, if you lie to me, I'll lie back. Understand?" John huffed. "You seem to know when I'm lying. How do I know you won't just lie either way?" "I won't." John glared at her, but this was his only way of getting answers at the moment. "Fine. Ask away." "What is your name?" "John MacTavish." "No title? Callsign?" John rolled his eyes. "Sergeant John MacTavish. My friends call me Soap. But you already know that." "I did. Your turn." "Who are you?" "I'm Chief Inspector Laswell. Head of Taskforce 141. Do you know of them?" John shook his head. "Nope. Not ringing any bells. Where is my brother?" The woman paused before answering. "In order to answer truthfully, You need to know a couple of things about Project Toyetic..."

· · ────────────── · ·

Most days at the main 141 base were hectic. Today was an exception. Soap was holed up in his room today, just buried in his covers, not wanting to face the day. No duplicates. Just a single Soap. A knock came around 1000. Soap sighed, pulled himself out of his bed, wrapped his blanket around his shoulders, and shuffled to the door. He didn't want to deal with any recruits right now. So imagine Soap's surprise when he opened the door to see Laswell standing outside. "Sergeant." "L-Laswell. What are you doing here?" "I'm here to check on you. I haven't seen any of you at all today." "Yea. I-" Soap sighed. "I'm taking a day off." Laswell cocked her head and became lost in thought. Soap never took a day off except- Laswell looked into his eyes. "It's today, right?" Soap nodded. "Five years." Laswell pulled him into a hug. "Are you okay?" Soap nodded again. "I'm fine. I'm just missing him." "Do you need anything?" "No. I just need to be alone today." "Okay." Soap pulled away from the hug. "Please. If you need anything, you can tell me." Soap nodded. "I'm okay for now. I'll be okay." Laswell nodded. "I'll leave you to it then. See you tomorrow, yeah?" Soap nodded and closed the door. Soap returned to his bed. His thoughts began to stew. Laswell seemed truly worried about him. He had become the happy-go-lucky guy on base since he came here. He had done this self-isolation in years past, but were they looking down on him? "You know they're not." "But do we? You saw how she looked at us. It's been five years! I should be over this by now!" "He was our brother! Grief is not a linear process." "Just because I am telling myself that doesn't mean I have to listen." The duplicate sighed. "So if I say it out loud, you won't listen to it?" "If you're just gonna repeat bullshit from the therapist, yeah. I hear that way too much." "But you'll listen to the thoughts in your head?" Soap buried his head farther into the pillow. "We are having the same thoughts, hermano. It's self-destructive to think like that." "I know." Both Soaps sighed. "How about we make a deal. Three of us go about the base as normal. So far only Laswell knows where we are. You can stay in bed. We can still grieve him. At the end of the day, we can all come back and have one big cry. How does that sound?" Soap sighed and turned over onto his side to face the wall. "I hate how logical that sounds. Go ahead." The other Soap nodded. "Okay. I'm gonna head to the weights." "Aw man, I wanted to go and do weights." "You idiots. You can both do weights. He needs a spotter anyways." "Oh right! That's why you're the smart one." "We're all the same guy, Soap." With that, the duplicates exited his room. For the whole day, Soap wallowed in his sadness. Memories of Logan and him together flashed through his mind: a moment in Nana's backyard garden, Soap playing wingman for Logan, cuddling as toddlers, Soap cheering loudly at Logan's graduation, Logan doing the same at his Sergeant promotion, and many more.

Maybe wallowing wasn't the best idea. He started feeling more and more shitty. Feeling shitty made him want to stay in bed, but staying in bed made him shitty. As Soap continued this cycle the day continued and finished. A Soap stumbled in soon after dark. "How you doing?" Soap just sighed and reached out his arm. "That bad?" "Yeah. Maybe sitting around and remembering the good times is a bad way for me to cope." The other Soap nodded. "Well. Let's refuse. I'm the only one. We all came together before I came in. We've been feeling bad about not thinking about him all day. So maybe your crying and my memories will balance out and today will be okay." Soap nodded as they grasped hands. The memories from both men joined together. Over the years, Soap had gotten good at compartmentalizing the scattered memories, but the dissonance between his memories and those of his duplicates caused him to cry. Scattered between his wallowing sorrows were shots of himself smiling while talking with Gaz, laughing at Ghost's jokes, horsing around on the obstacle course with a couple of recruits, and pestering Price. It was a normal day, but even the little details made a difference. While contemplating the day, Soap missed the knock at this door. Soap hadn’t noticed until a hand appeared on his shoulder. Soap looked up into the face of Laswel, tears openly streaming down his face. He rushed to wipe them away. "Chief!" Laswell raised her other hand to his face and wiped away a tear he missed. "What do you n-need, sir?" "I need to help you. Are you okay?" Soap sucked in a breath. "I'm fine. Just a lot going on today." Laswell nodded. "I saw you running around today. I thought you were taking a day to rest?" Soap deepened his breath. His tears had slowed, but they hadn't stopped. "I did. I was here all day as well." "Four of you?" Soap nodded. Laswell nodded back. "Have you eaten anything all day?" Soap nodded once more. "Had lunch with Gaz and a-a granola bar before I came back so I-I'm okay." Laswell moved to sit down next to Soap. "Okay. You know I do this because I love you, right?" Soap nodded, his throat closing up not used to the love thrown abandonly at him. Laswell wrapped her arms around Soap and hugged him sideways. "You, the 141, all of you are my family. It may be my job, but it's something I've turned into my life. Watching and helping all of you to live with what Toyetic unfairly dealt you. You have grown so much since you came under my wing, John. Please don't forget that." Soap's tears came in full force. He turned and wrapped his arms in turn around her. They sat there, for how long, Soap did not know. He only knew that Laswell's hold on him did not soften until he let go first. Leaning back, Soap took a couple of deep breaths. They sat in silence for a couple minutes more. "Thank you, Laswell." "What for?" "For checking in on me tonight. I needed that." Laswell smiled. "I think I needed that too." Silence again. "It's late. I know you've been in bed all day, but please try to sleep, okay?" Soap nodded. "I'll sleep. Tomorrow is another day, after all." Laswell ruffled Soap's unkempt mohawk. "That it is. Good night, John." "Good night, Kate."

And that's the end! I'm not gonna turn this into a full fanfic, but feel free to use the ideas here for anything you want to do! Just tag me please so I can see! Have fun!

141 is made up of human experiments. They were supposed to be destroyed but it was decided they could be put to use as weapons. Laswell is their handler, she's meant to keep an eye on them and if they get out of hand she's supposed to kill them. But... the thought of killing them didn't bother her when she didn't know them. Before she befriended Price, before she spent time with Ghost or supervised Soap and Gaz at a carnival. They were so human, full of light and wonder. Now she's desperate to make sure her bosses never see the need to have them killed.

[auspicioustidings]

It would be so jarring dating Soap because he will so casually say shit like "spit in my mouth would ye bonnie?" with full sincerity at the pub. "The new nails are well braw... naw had a finger up my arse in a while hen so time tae break them in" when you are at a bloody wedding. "Dinnae take it personal LT, she's on the rag and I havnae given her head in over an hour so that's why she's bitchin'. Open up bonnie, let me make it better" as he is bullying his head between your thighs when you're supposed to be having a nice dinner at his Lieutenants house and you snap at Ghost.

Johnny just does not have an off switch nor do you think he understands the concept of public decency. But fuck he's so damn good to you and is so incredibly obsessed with making you cum that you just learn to live with the embarassment he puts you through.

[wombywoo]

check-up 🤕

[gofishygo]

no but what if reader sacrifices themself for soap in the tunnel... (implied ghoap, ghoap x reader; mcd, reader has very low self esteem, reader probably has depression, mw3 spoilers)

you know how important he is to ghost. everybody does- it's hard to not notice that they are practically symbiotic- feeding off of each other's laughs, near inseparable. you never see one without the other.

and compared to him, you are nothing more than a burden to the team, you figure. you do not carry soap's explosive force, the intensity in his eyes, nor do you have half of ghost's expertise in sniping, do not carry any of his mystique. you dont- you dont deserve a second glance, much less any of their kindness. your fascination, you like to call it, towards johnny and ghost, it should be hidden under your tongue, clandestine and invisible.

nobody gets a say in how quickly you are to establish yourself as the wallflower of the 1-4-1. and by the time of mw3, nobody gets to intercept how you manage to run solo in a team, no matter how much they try to reach out. they have each other. why would they ever need you?

so in that clammy, chilling tunnel, your reactions to such an ambush are second nature- you shut down the moment johnny's shoulder is shot. tackling the enemy- the movement is so instantaneous and blurry that you do not realise that said enemy is makarov himself-onto the asphalt and plunging your knife in and out of him until the muzzle of a gun presses against your head and it's bullet lodges into the back of your brain. you die instantly, silently, not hearing how johnny screams your name instead of your callsign, how simon, for the first time, seems uncoordinated, desperate like a dog as he fumbles to revive you. you had never thought that they cared, never believed they would look at you with reprocipricated admiration. and moments before you die, you realise that you will never know how much of a presence you were in their lives, and you close your eyes knowing that they will be okay together. but you arent around long enough to see how they crumble, and you die with the belief that in this world, you are none other than a replacement. you never seem to stay around long enough to see how simon, johnny, love you.

and you never will.

[tame-the-lion-writes]

I remember this one tiktok of dogs helping their mom grab groceries from the trunk and bring it inside when she comes home..

Now I imagine that with the Dog Shifter 141.

Like Reader bringing the first bag in and the boys just exits the house to grab the rest (Reader thought they’re running away lmao)

Canon. No notes. Canon (—as canon as a dog shifter au can be LMAO)

You're a one-trip-back-and-forth kinda gal. Unfortunately that stubbornness no longer works 'cause you're feeding five, and boy, do they have big appetites.

You've got two reusable bags and a third plastic one hanging off your elbow. There's still three bags left in the car. And the vegetables have been stacked so high that you can barely make out the lock on your door when you repeatedly try--and fail--to unlock it.

Once you do, though, the boys come out all organized. One by one. Price leads, of course--he always does, with Ghost right behind him, then Soap and Gaz. The first three go and fetch what's left in the car--intelligent but not too out of place. The strange part, though, is when Gaz gets on his hind legs and just... grabs one of the bags out of your arms? With his teeth? It's not the fact that he did it, but the manner in which he did--because you've watched one too many skinwalker videos on TikTok, and it just doesn't look right.

"Ooh... oh my god."

[s0fter-sin]

thinking about the way ghost doesn't hesitate to start killing shadows when graves betrays them but soap only takes one hostage

you can almost hear the voice in his head telling him it doesn't have to be this way; they can still talk it out

"i'm calling shepherd"

his first instinct when confronted with betrayal is to play it by the books: to go up the chain. that goes against everything we've seen him do. he bucks authority at every chance except for the one time he's confronted with the barrels of his allies' guns

he wants a peaceful resolution; for the first time we've ever seen, he doesn't want violence to be the answer. there has to be another fix, a solution that doesn't end with him killing the same men he's been working with; his friends

nothing's happened yet

it doesn't have to go this way

but ghost has been betrayed before. he knows the way this ends; either with him six feet under or his enemy

he doesn't hesitate

it's only when they knock alejandro out that soap shoots; when they spill the first blood and cross a line they can never come back from

only when ghost orders him to run and he has to cover his retreat

and somewhere along the line, between civilians’ screams and taunting voices, between his shaking breath and ghost steady in his ear, that naivety is stripped away; his trust turned to teeth that he uses to sink into throats of men he'd have given his life for

"be careful who you trust, sergeant; people you know can hurt you the most"

he's learned the price of trust

just like ghost did

but unlike ghost, he has someone to guide him through the aftermath

"good advice, It"

[bluegiragi]

open wide.

early access + nsfw on patreon

[shotmrmiller]

missed out on my chance to make a ghoap kinktober fic where reader cockwarms soap and ghost rubs your pussy til you're crying and overstimulated and might die if he doesn't stop but will also die if he does because you're hurtling at light speed toward another peak again and the only way soap can come is with the pulsing of your walls squeezing him viciously tight, exactly like how ghost's hand does around his cock when he's high strung and unable to think clearly while on an op.

[ceilidho]

ceilid. oil rig soap i am foaming at the mouth omg

he's covered in an ever present layer of grease and grime, stinking of sweat and rust. comes off as a cocky showboat when you first arrive on the rig, jokes about wanting to see you all messed up like the rest of 'em, but his jokes are barbed, electric blue eyes looking you up and down like he really can't stand how clean and neat you are compared to the men on board. like he wants to tear your ironed skirt down so he can drag his dirty paws all over your ass and thighs.

you honestly write him off; hard to see the laid back charmer as a genuine threat or even someone to go running to should something bad happen to you, but then everything on the rig goes to shit. something violent and hungry comes out of the water and you can hear the blood curdling screams from the men it catches as you sprint down the landing, the helicopter already starting to take off even as you yell for them to wait.

but then a man twice your size is suddenly pulling you into the shadows, covering your mouth and shushing you as the thing that came aboard the ship suddenly passes (and you think, wildly, that it would've been on you by now had soap not dragged you out of the way) and you watch in horror as it obliterates the chopper, the body of the chopper bursting into flames and going into a tailspin, crashing into the ocean below.

"keep the heid, bonnie," murmured into your ear, the hand around your mouth pressing harder and muffling your screams as he pulls you deeper into the rig, trying to find a place to hide, his arms like steel bands around you. "willnae let anything bad happen to ye."

[temeyes]

Gaz is in his anime phase now hehe (a sequel to this animatic!)

[shadow4-1]

I'm just imagining being annoying as fuck and the boys decide to fuck with you back.

So they take turns throwing you around to each other. Like, at first you're squealing and flailing but eventually you realize they're not going to drop you and you just kind of give in to their strange punishment.

And, of course, Price chooses to walk into the rec room at that very moment. He just watches over his coffee cup as you're tossed around from Sergeant to Lieutenant to Sergeant.

He turns and leaves. He doesn't have time for this.

[rejectedbytheempty]

just saw a video abt ppl in the military sleeping anywhere they can and i have the cod brainrot so obviously thought of tf141

ghost and you just about to get down and dirty but he had to do a quick bathroom trip. next thing you know, you hear snoring coming from the bathroom and he's leaned against the wall, eyes shut.

price promising that he'd watch the whole movie, because it was one of your favorites. but lo and behold, you barely get past the opening scene and he's laid back with his mouth hanging open.

gaz making dinner for the both of you. you smell burning from the kitchen and find him face down on the counter, spoon in hand as the food blackens in the pan.

soap trying to give you a massage because you've had a hard day. turns out it relaxed him instead because minutes later he's collapsed on top of you, drooling onto your back.