Chapter Text
Soap hadn't meant to spend most of his time in a pod of seals that weren't like him.
But after his family disappeared from the face of the Antarctic because of a particularly brutal blizzard, he didn't have a choice. They accepted him fine enough, being the same species helped a lot — Weddell seals to be exact — and they ignored his above-average size once they figured out he wasn't interested in claiming any territory or taking part in the courting rituals.
The whole arrangement was unheard of. Shifters only kept company with other shifters, and a few rare ones chose to take human partners if it was feasible. Their intelligence set them apart from the wilderness, and from the food chain, much like it did for humans. Living amongst their wild equivalent was an unspoken taboo in the shifter community due to the complications that came with blending into nature, forgetting one's origins and gifts, and gradually throwing one's mind away in the ultimate act of abandonment. The delicate balance between their two sides were always prioritised, and maintaining their instincts and intelligence was an act of honouring their gift.
Thus, if one were to abandon one side completely it was seen as a fundamental betrayal who they were. The taboo of disregarding the gift of self-actualisation from their ancestors.
Soap, again, didn't have much of a choice. When his family was around, he had no intention of abandoning his roots. Weddell shifters hardly migrated, he wasn't too far off from where he was born. Which fed more into the mystery of where his family had disappeared, if they were near at all.
The nearest shifter settlement was around two hundred kilometres away, and while it would've been more suitable to find community and shelter there, it would take roughly two days of continuous swimming in his shifted form to get anywhere close to the place. The amount of time and energy he would waste while avoiding every danger that lurked in the greater oceans was a risk too great to take. There was another part of him too, the one reluctant to leave the only place his family would return to if they were alive and were looking for him. He had hope, as stubborn and fallible as it was.
All he had to do was to wait, he needed to have faith that they survived. It had been over six full moons by this point, time wasn't working in his favour, but he held on.
His new 'pod' wasn't that different from his previous one. As long as he ignored how they couldn't properly communicate with him. He hadn't spoken to anyone for almost an entire year if he counted the incoming summer, and the lack of companionship was getting to him. The loneliness was its own punishment. He shifted back sometimes too, finding less and less reason to each time he did; he was trudging through a dangerous path and there was no one around to pull him out.
His home turned into a lonesome, abandoned den, and he spent most of his time underwater with the pod, trying his best to forget about his worries. It wouldn't help while he waited, and his family wouldn't want him to sulk away in their absence. The days blurred as full moons passed, the times he shifted were greatly reduced and before he knew it, the ice started to melt.
It was the perfect season to hunt. The warmer weather meant easier access to prey, more floating ice to rest on and more opportunity to roam around. Of course, it came with its dangers, however, the reward made it worth the swim, and those around him seemed eager enough to quell any lingering, rational thought out of his mind. The water was cold in a refreshing, flowing way, and they went off to swim towards the more known fish-abundant areas.
Soap considered himself a decent hunter. He wasn't the most efficient but he was faster than most in his family. It was one of the reasons he preferred hunting in his shifted form, because as a seal he was a record-holder, easily beating all of his siblings with the amount of fish he could catch. He had learned how to hunt for food as a human too but it was nothing compared to how he performed underwater; the sea was his playground and the fish his prize.
He left most of the school of fishes for others — another advantage of being a shifter was that he needed nutrients in accordance with his human side. He could consume as much as other seals could, although, being pragmatic about hunting was something the MacTavish family prioritised.
As a result, Soap went for the biggest prey in the area. Spotting it was easy, the stealth and diving were more complicated, and once he was adequately in position, the ice glistened with light enough for the fish to cast a shadow down on him. He waited for the perfect moment, waited more than most in the pod would.
He could afford to do so, a big toothfish was more than enough for him, and the one he was eyeing was the biggest one he'd seen. Easily bigger than the size of an average human. It would make a good meal for a week straight if he played his cards right.
Soap swam slowly, accelerating his pace until he was close enough to be spotted, his whiskers alerting him of every small movement the toothfish made. Another perk he didn't get in his human form. He surged forward, slamming into the toothfish with his entire body and latching his mouth tightly around its neck.
It struggled, it thrashed but it was nothing compared to the force behind Soap's jaws. The rush of blood escaping his canines was one of victory, the promise of a week spent not worrying about food; he was relishing too much in the rush of adrenaline to notice that he was alone.
Something was wrong.
It was too quiet, too still. He was used to fish running and hiding after he hunted, not the absence of the pod he had integrated in. Most would linger around hunting their own after Soap caused the initial disruption, which amplified his unease.
When something large moved in his peripherals, panic forced his hand, haywire instincts and human curiosity forced him to twist his body towards the presence. His whiskers picked up the motion — and the lack of it — immediately, his gaze settled on the large black and white creature floating a few metres away, as if it was waiting for him to realise that it had him in his sight; it wanted him to know it was going to be the last thing he saw in his life.
Bleeding fuck. It was massive, and it was focused entirely on Soap.
The creature rushed towards him at incredible speed without giving him a moment to blink. Faster than him, faster than any seal he had ever seen, its hulking body drowned the blue of the sea around it.
Soap's body was slammed full force by its tail, the strength behind the assault made his brain rattle against his skull, disorientation blaring in a loud thundering echo. He suddenly remembered the beast's name, a useless eureka moment when he could barely keep track of anything around him. The only thing in the seas that would have a predilection for those similar to him.
A seal killer. A supposedly highly intelligent apex predator.
It was a killer whale.
Soap tried to dive down and away, anywhere but in the direct view of the orca, knowing full well that he wouldn't be able to escape easily. Not like this. There was nothing but the taste of blood in his mouth, and the fish that he killed had disappeared, lost in the current of the sea after the tides turned.
A shame, he thought deliriously, mind unable to truly comprehend the horror of his situation. Could've bargained with the big bastard for it.
Not that the bargain would work — it was a killer whale. With the killing focused on him.
While Soap was silently glad he wasn't bleeding from elsewhere, it didn't take long for his fight or flight to boil over when he sensed movement again. This time, his whiskers picked up the subtle detail of an empty, gaping space in the orca's front, the attack similar in structure to the first one, except it was barrelling at him with its mouth wide open.
Before he could twist out of the way, the orca descended upon him with the force of a speeding metallic ship.
A sharp pain shot up from his tail as massive lines of jagged canines sunk into him. The sea wasn't just black and white anymore, it was red and brown, rusting shades that grew worse when he turned to yank himself away from the bite.
He made it exponentially worse.
The wound was torn open; the reality of his situation sunk firmly, a tinge of awareness sweeping in; the more he was going to struggle, the worse of a death he was going to get.
Blood seeped from the corners of the orca's maw, and for a second, he thought of the scene from a detached perspective, as if he wasn't moments away from death — his brain unable to fully comprehend his doom. He almost lamented how beautiful the red looked on the massive beast, lamented that it would be the last thing he saw before the world was snatched from his hands.
A scene as cruel as any, for death would take it away from him as it had with everything else in his life.
Soap remembered how orcas fed. At the very least, he would have a comparatively painless death, he wasn't going to be mutilated and turned into sizable bits and pieces for the orca to enjoy.
Unexpectedly though, the beast unhinged its jaw, but it was already too late, the damage was done — blood loss crept forward with its consequences.
Amongst the array of colours, he recalled the sight of a burgundy-brown iris staring directly into his. He had never seen an orca's eyes this close before. There wasn't anything there at first, a coldness comparable to the waters around them, but the sight changed a second later when the eye widened exponentially.
Regret churned within, flashing brighter than the red that surrounded him.
If Soap could laugh, he would. He was bleeding, minutes away from dying, and his brain had been desperate enough to provide the only hint of humanity he had seen in months.
From the gaze of his killer, no less.
Oddly, his mind found it satisfying, something in that gaze had calmed him enough for him to surrender fully to the torturous call of the abyss, slipping listlessly into the lull of unconsciousness.
If he felt an urgent push guiding him towards the surface of the ocean, he would blame it on his deliriously rattled brain strumming up a soothing fantasy to ease him towards his end.