#sorry if he’s ooc idk how to write cpt tav 😞

[ghcstao3]

writing a little something for this black panther!ghost because of a scene while playing sottr lol

(edit: part two)

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Facing death on a regular basis is something Soap had made peace with a very long time ago. It's merely the nature of his occupation, something he chose for himself, and so he'd be a fool to not accept that his life would often be put in danger of being ended.

That being said, Soap's never been particularly fearful of such a kind of loss anyway—or, he wasn't, until he's staring directly into its bloodthirsty maw.

The mission was already interesting to begin with. They—being Price's merry little band of soldiers deemed task force one-four-one—had gone into it knowing it was risky; tracking a feral shifter would be difficult as is only in part due to it being outside their usual duties, but that shifter then being a big cat and ex-SAS soldier with little regard to distinguish enemy from ally increases that danger by tenfold. Soap found himself poring over the details, intrigued by everything that led to the point of finally sending out a team for detainment.

Supposedly—because nothing was technically confirmed—this panther shifter, name Simon Riley, had been held hostage by a cartel for some time, after a mission gone wrong. Retrospective details and investigation hinted at experimentation and brainwashing along with the usual anticipated torture, but it's difficult to be certain of anything when, somehow, Riley escaped and singlehandedly slaughtered everyone in the facility where he was kept.

The amazing part, Soap thinks, is that Riley had gone completely undetected until he'd killed a friendly, still stuck in a mind of base instinct. Intel speculates he'd been patrolling the jungle surrounding the facility for a little over two years now, fending off anything his animal brain deemed a threat.

So it was safe to say the mission would not be simple. Capturing Riley would only be the beginning, if they could even manage so much.

Sweat beads uncomfortable and sticky on Soap's skin in the muggy climate of the jungle, welcoming dirt and gnats to glue themselves to his limbs. He's never been one for humidity, always more partial to the arid sort of heat, but there's certainly an added level of unpleasantness when it feels like he's being watched.

Soap readjusts the grip on his gun, and trudges onward.

"Any activity on your end?" Price's voice cuts through his paranoid silence, startling as the ferns that brush against his arms.

Soap pauses his stride, gaze skirting across the seemingly endless forest; it still is, as it has been for the past however long, a mostly unmoving wall of greens and browns beyond the gentle sway of foliage in a barely-existent breeze and the occasional bird taking flight, or small critter scampering between hiding places.

Quiet.

"Negative," he says. “What’s it—“

He's about to ask the same of his fellow captain's own position when he hears the low growl.

It's deep, guttural, and—most importantly—entirely and undoubtably a threat.

Soap couldn't even think to turn and lift his rifle before he's dodging out of the way of the panther's lunge. Even if it were a real bullet and not a strong tranquilizer, Soap doesn't believe it'd help his chances of survival anyway.

At most he'd buy himself time, and that'd hardly count for anything with a feral and angry shifter to then pursue him and the rest of the team, when they inevitably crossed paths.

He narrowly avoids the follow-up attempt on his life as the panther pivots much faster than anticipated, now a snarling mass of fangs and claws as it stalks closer every time Soap puts distance between them. The gun still tight in his grip, it seems, isn’t any kind of deterrent—proven especially soon when the shifter acts quickly, quicker than Soap, and manages to tackle him to the ground.

The rifle is the only barrier keeping Soap from being torn apart, though he feels a seeping warmth somewhere on his torso that tells him sharp claws have found their home somewhere in his flesh. Soap struggles against pure strength of the creature, gritting his teeth as he pushes back and tries to wriggle free.

Distantly, over the rumbling and hissing, Soap can hear the others crashing through the forest, calling out his name in search of him. The sound distracts the shifter momentarily enough for Soap to escape—however getting his rifle knocked from his hands—and when he sits up it’s with a nauseating pain in his side from where he’d been caught, and is currently bleeding a concerning amount.

He can’t stand without stumbling, and is merely left with the hopes his team might reach him in time to keep him from getting mauled. All he can do is scramble backwards to create distance and delay his obvious fate.

Maybe he’s only so scared of death now, because he’d always believed his own would be swift and relatively painless as a cause of it, given his line of work.

Soap’s back hits the thick trunk of a tree. He winces, trying to swallow the growing panic as the panther begins to creep toward him, steady and calculating. He breathes in, exhales slowly through his nostrils, lifting his chin and baring his teeth in return though he knows damn well he’s trembling.

The shifter is close now, too close, huffing softly as he looms over Soap. Intelligent but wild eyes bore into Soap’s own gaze, the mismatched irises surely a point of intrigue if his life were not in immediate peril.

But the shifter just… stops. Stares at him almost in consideration, and for a moment Soap could persuade himself to believe he sees just a glimpse of the humanity that had been forgone two years prior.

Soap tries not to shrink back as the panther leans in to sniff him curiously, his face so close Soap can feel the shifter’s whiskers tickle his face, can smell the iron and blood of the meat of his previous meal. But then the panther is retreating with a more gentle growl in his throat, miraculously willing to spare Soap despite his track record.

Soap hears the telltale thwick of a tranquilizer embedding itself in the shifter’s pelt, then a couple more following for good measure. For only a brief moment does the aggression return before the big cat is slumping to the ground.

Price calls it in while Roach helps Soap up, employing Gaz’s help to wrap Soap’s wound as best as is manageable until he can get the proper medical help.

Dutifully Soap offers what answers he can, but finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from the shifter.

There’s more to this story than they had intel, and he’s more than certain there’s more that they haven’t been told, more that’s being kept from them.

And just as well, Soap figures there’s a reason he’d been allowed to live, unlike so many others—and he finds himself knowing, then, that he wouldn’t rest until he understands why.