Chapter Text
Heavy footsteps echoed down the stark concrete hallway—long, cold, and lined with an unnerving number of containment cells. All were empty. For now. Two soldiers in uniform advanced steadily toward a large, sealed bulkhead guarded by another pair of armed men. Between them stood a woman who, with her polished appearance and calm poise, looked distinctly out of place among the cold steel and harsh walls of the base.
John MacTavish turned his head toward his Captain, jaw tense, teeth grinding. “Still no’ happy about this. Told ye I don’t need a bloody partner. I’m handlin’ things just fine on ma own.”
Price didn’t even glance at him. “Aye, you’ve said. Repeatedly. Doesn’t matter. You know damn well the brass are all over this. This ain’t about what you want, Johnny. You’ve proven yourself, sure—but this is about what comes next. Growth. Thought you liked a challenge.”
Soap let out a frustrated grunt. No point in arguing. He’d tried—again and again—and Price always shut it down the same way.
The woman was already waiting for them. She greeted Price with a firm handshake, then turned to Soap, offering the same polite smile and hand. “Captain Price.” Her gaze flicked to Johnny. “And you must be Lieutenant MacTavish.” She shook his hand, adding a small, deliberate squeeze. “Claire Soyer. I’ve heard quite a bit about you. Glad to finally meet you. I think you’re going to be an excellent addition to the program.”
Before Soap could respond, she nodded to one of the guards. He swiped a security card through the panel, and the heavy door unlocked with a deafening mechanical groan. A shrill alarm blared briefly as the metal parted—clearly reinforced, soundproofed. Because what came next was a wave of noise: animalistic screeches, guttural snarls, distorted whispers, wet growls.
Claire stepped through first, then turned to beckon the men with a sweeping gesture. Her smile widened, her arms extending theatrically. “Welcome to the Apparition Initiative.”
The Lieutenant exhaled slowly, his hand rising to scratch the nape of his neck, the tension there palpable. Beyond the threshold lay another corridor, this one lined with reinforced cells—identical in size to the previous row. Except these weren’t empty. Not one. Creatures of all shapes and sizes watched them from the dark behind thick glass or containment bars. Soap didn’t bother counting, but there had to be at least fifty.
And every one of them was very, very aware of his presence.
Their guide continued her chatter, pointing out minor security details and naming off unpronounceable species. But Soap wasn’t listening. His gaze remained pinned to the floor, fists clenched at his sides, jaw set tight as frustration twisted in his gut. Every step felt heavier than the last, each one a reminder of the trap he’d been shoved into. His disappointment radiated off him—toward the higher-ups who had ignored his formal request to be excluded from the handler initiative. Toward himself, for rising through the ranks so well that now he was considered perfect for the job.
He hadn’t kept his disdain for monsters a secret, even as a fresh Lieutenant. His first deployment with another spec-ops unit had forced him into proximity with one of them. A towering, brutal creature head filled with carnage. He’d hated every second of it. Hated the blood-slick aftermaths. Hated the way it looked at the world—through you, not at you. Soap didn’t want allies that needed to be leashed. He wanted trained men, thinkers, teammates. Not beasts.
Price slowed his pace, waiting for Johnny to catch up. The Captain laid a firm hand on his shoulder, snapping him from his spiral. “Stop sulkin’ like a moody teenager, Johnny. You’re better than that.”
They came to a stop. Soap exhaled, then fixed his eyes on Price, but something behind the Captain caught his attention. Two white orbs glowing in the shadows of a nearby cell.
Price noticed the change and turned to follow his gaze.
Claire, realizing the two had stopped, joined them again, heels clicking confidently. “Ah. That one.” She smiled knowingly. “That one’s something special.”
Price raised a brow. “You got ghosts down here too?”
Claire huffed a short laugh. “Hardly. If we did, the war’d be over already.” She approached the cell and plucked the clipboard from the wall. “But this one can disappear. Near-invisible when he wants to be.”
She returned, flipping the board to show them a printed dossier with a grainy photo attached. The figure in the image stood still and menacing—a humanoid silhouette with a pale, almost white-toned body, arms and legs that ended in dark, clawed appendages. The torso was plated with ridged, hardened muscle. The legs bent oddly, animal-like, but the real centerpiece was the creature’s head: a void of black, broken only by two glowing eyes. A thick tail coiled out from its lower spine, long and sleek like a weapon forged of flesh.
It didn’t look like the other monsters. It looked designed.
“This one got your attention?” Price nudged Johnny in the side, half-grinning. Soap didn’t answer—just gave a grunt.
Inside the cell, the monster moved. It stepped forward, into a shaft of light. And right before their eyes, the shade of its skin began to change—from void black to mottled grey, then into a soft off-white that stretched down its chest, arms, and legs. Soap now noticed the chains—thick ones binding its wrists, ankles, and neck. Another locked its tail tight against one leg, restricting movement.
Price gave a low whistle. “Hell of a show. Well, Lieutenant? What’s your verdict?”
Soap didn’t want to be impressed, but… he was.
“’s alright, I guess,” he muttered. “Less revoltin’ than the rest.”
Claire cleared her throat, sharp but professional. “We only recently brought him in. Still wild. Still dangerous. But there’s potential. We’ve run a few behavioral drills—he’s learning. But he’s not what I’d call obedient.”
She looked pointedly at Soap. “Hope your schedule’s clear.”
Price turned toward her fully, arms crossed. “We’ve got time. Unless command sends us off again, we’re staying for the long haul.”
He gave Soap a firm pat between the shoulder blades.
Soap crossed his arms, scowling. “Ah haven’t signed off on any of this—”
“And you don’t have to,” Price interrupted, his voice low and final. “Orders are orders. You’re leaving with a monster, son. Might as well be one you can stand looking at.”
Soap looked back at the cell—at the pale form standing still, watching him without blinking.
And something unspoken passed between them..
Claire led Price and Soap through a winding corridor to her office. The conversation was brief but dense: details on containment protocols, Johnny's upcoming crash course in monster handling, and a full rundown on monster biology. Soap sat stiffly through it all, his mood sour. He didn’t care for the clinical language or Claire’s excited tone—this wasn't an experiment, this was a mistake. A monster-shaped one.
As the hour grew late, Claire dismissed them, her clipboard tucked under one arm. On the walk back to their quarters, Johnny aired his frustration.
"Ye know this is bollocks, right?"
Price offered a tired glance. "It's not up for debate, Johnny. Orders are orders. You want control over this, prove you can handle it."
And with that, Price turned down a different corridor, leaving Soap alone with his growing resentment.
Morning came fast. Claire was already waiting in the training room, flanked by two assistants. The chamber was large and industrial, its concrete walls marred by deep scratches, dents, and what looked suspiciously like dried blood. Soap scanned the room, unease crawling up his spine. This place had seen violence. Repeatedly.
He hoped the monster wouldn’t be as stubborn as it looked.
The metallic groan of a door dragged across the floor. A squad of five guards entered, bringing the creature in tow. Its wrists were shackled behind its back, a thick muzzle clamped over its face, its tail still strapped to its thigh. Two guards kept poles taut against its neck, collars locked around the end. The creature walked without resistance.
Soap felt a flicker of relief. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
He was wrong.
The monster stood still. Rigid. It didn’t acknowledge Soap or Price. Its eyes were locked on Claire, unwavering. The rise and fall of its massive chest was the only movement it allowed. It had a presence—not just because of its size, which dwarfed even Price, but because of the sheer silence it commanded.
Johnny studied it. The creature’s head was a void, blacker than shadow, featureless save for its eyes. No mouth, no brows. No way to read its emotions. And yet, its gaze felt narrowed—bored? Angry? Hard to say.
Claire, undeterred, stared back at it. "We still haven't confirmed its aggression level," she said, speaking sideways to the guards. "It doesn’t respond to commands. Not unless we apply... pressure."
Soap raised a brow. "Pressure?"
With a faint smirk, Claire reached into her coat and retrieved a small remote, passing it to Soap. The moment it touched his palm, the monster reacted. Its head snapped toward the device, eyes widening.
Soap glanced down, suspicion flaring.
Claire answered before he could ask. "Pain stimulus. We tried positive reinforcement. Didn’t work. But the stick? Much more effective."
The creature's entire body tensed, every muscle coiled beneath its pale skin. For the first time, Soap sensed something behind that unblinking stare—not pain, not fear, but restraint. It knew what the remote did.
A war stirred in Soap’s gut. Part of him hated this. Torture in a different outfit. But the other part reminded him: monsters weren’t innocent. They weren’t people. And if this thing ever got loose, it wouldn’t hesitate.
It wouldn’t show him mercy.
“And this one’s already familiar with what happens when it disobeys,” Claire said dryly. “Yet it still prefers a controlled shock over following orders.”
Soap cast a sideways glance at Price, who didn’t seem fazed by Claire’s blunt explanation. Maybe the Captain already knew what went on in places like this. Had he gone through it himself? Or was he just keeping calm to avoid tipping off Soap, to keep doubt from seeping into his Lieutenant?
Claire extended her hand toward Johnny—an unspoken request for the remote. He handed it over, curiosity prickling under his skin. He wanted to see what she would do.
The monster’s eyes followed the handoff intently. It looked alert, but not afraid.
Claire’s voice rang out sharp and commanding. “Kneel!”
The order was absurd—something you’d tell a dog. But Soap didn’t know what else he would’ve said in her place.
Predictably, the creature didn’t move. It stood there like a statue, its off-white body unnervingly still.
Then the shock hit.
Soap flinched as the monster convulsed—eyes clamped shut, muscles locking up, body collapsing in on itself. Its breath stuttered, the agony clear.
This wasn’t some dog-training shock collar. This hurt. A lot.
Claire’s finger was on the first button. Soap stared at the device, wondering just how much worse buttons two and three could get—because even this one looked brutal.
The monster pulled itself upright again, silent and seething. Still refusing. Still proud. It didn’t even glance at the humans.
A sigh from Claire’s direction. Soap turned toward her just as she said, “Told you. Not the most obedient yet. But don’t worry—we’ll wear it down eventually. It just needs the right encouragement.”
Her finger slid to the second button.
The monster flinched before the shock even hit. Its thighs tensed, its breath caught. A deep, vibrating growl rumbled from its chest, and its eyes narrowed. Slowly, grudgingly, it dropped to its knees.
“Good boy,” Claire said flatly.
The monster snarled at her praise. Even Soap found her tone patronizing. Still, he buried the strange flicker of sympathy that twisted in his gut.
It had to learn its place.
It was only allowed to exist to serve a purpose.
If it didn’t, they would’ve put a bullet in its skull the moment they captured it.
Gratitude wasn’t in a monster’s nature. All they knew was killing, eating—and breeding.
Claire held the remote out to Soap. “Better start early. It needs to know who its handler is now.”
Soap took it. The remote felt heavier in his hand than before—maybe just the weight of responsibility settling in.
“Go ahead. Give it a command.”
The monster’s gaze was fixed on the concrete beneath its knees. Soap could almost feel the cold scrape of the floor on his own skin. Kneeling like that too long had to hurt.
He swallowed thickly, steeling himself. His voice wavered.
“Up.”
Nothing.
He hesitated, thumb brushing over the first button—but just as he considered pressing it, the monster exhaled sharply.
It stood. Slow. Controlled. Resentful.
Now its gaze locked onto Soap’s—and it was like being punched in the chest. The hate in its eyes was ice-cold and burning all at once.
From then on, Claire was relentless about getting Soap hands-on with his new monster. The following days were filled with sessions focused solely on obedience training—but any flicker of compliance came only under the threat of the remote. Despite the slow progress, they felt confident enough to remove the shackles to test the creature’s true potential in controlled combat against other monsters.
It was hard to stomach—using living beings as mere benchmarks.
Claire stood behind a reinforced window, clipboard in hand. "Remove the shackles."
Soap blinked. "What?"
"You heard me, Lieutenant."
The guards hesitated, eyes darting toward the black-muzzled creature standing still in the center of the room. Ghost didn’t move, didn’t twitch. He just… watched.
One of the guards approached, unlocking the thick shackles binding the creature’s wrists behind its back. The click of metal hitting the floor sounded louder than it should have.
“Now provoke it.”
Soap grimaced. “You’re kidding.”
Claire didn’t reply. She just nodded toward a dummy mounted on a rig behind Ghost. “Let’s see how fast he really is.”
One of the assistants hit a button.
The dummy sprang forward with a hiss of compressed air—fast, aiming for the back of Ghost’s head.
It didn’t touch him.
In the blink of an eye, Ghost spun, his clawed arm swinging up. The dummy’s head exploded in plastic shards. Soap barely saw the movement—just the blur of black and a crunch.
Claire didn’t even flinch. “Reaction time: 0.13 seconds. Faster than last week.”
Soap stepped closer to the reinforced glass. Ghost stood again in the center of the room, arms lowered, posture relaxed—almost bored.
That was the first time Soap felt a chill of genuine fear. Not because Ghost had attacked… but because he hadn’t. That kind of restraint in something so deadly was… unnatural.
“Alright, send in subject twenty-two.”
Soap’s stomach turned. Another monster. This one was bulkier, dull red skin, sharp tusks jutting from its lower jaw. Its handler wore a bite suit.
Ghost was unshackled in the center of the training cage.
The red creature entered, snarling.
Soap leaned toward Claire. “He doesn’t initiate fights. You sure about this?”
“I’m counting on the other one starting it.”
It didn’t take long. The red brute lunged. Ghost didn’t react until the thing was on him—massive claws swinging toward his throat.
Then it happened.
Shk-chk.
Spikes burst from Ghost’s spine and tail—like bone-meets-blade. The red creature screamed, impaled on impact.
“Shit,” Soap breathed.
The brute collapsed, twitching. Ghost just stood there, chest rising and falling slowly.
The spines retracted.
Claire was scribbling notes. “Adaptive defense. Retractable spines, naturally triggered under pressure.”
Soap watched the black blood trickling from Ghost’s shoulder, thick and slow. “You think he knows what he’s doing?”
Claire smirked. “I think he knows exactly what he’s doing.”
The next monster was faster.
Thin, serpentine, and fast enough to dodge Ghost’s first swipe. It bit deep into his upper arm before Ghost managed to grab it by the throat and slam it into the wall with a crack.
Black blood spattered.
It landed on the other monster’s face.
The scream that followed was unlike anything Soap had heard from something not human.
It clawed at its face, convulsing. Flesh hissed and melted. The stench of rot and burned meat filled the room.
Soap had to look away.
When he looked back, the serpentine creature was on the ground, half its skull gone. Smoke curled from the acid-burned floor.
Ghost stood there, quiet, expressionless.
Claire didn’t speak for a moment. Then:
“Acidic blood,” she said. “Highly corrosive. Defensive, not offensive—but effective. Very effective.”
Soap stared. His hand clenched around the remote in his pocket.
“Jesus…” he whispered.
Ghost looked up.
Their eyes met through the observation window. Still expressionless.
But watching.
Always watching.
Later that evening, Soap sat on the bench outside the observation block, elbows on his knees, hands clasped.
Price sat beside him, silent.
"You saw the way he didn’t even try to kill until it was forced," Soap muttered. “They want to use him like some fuckin’ scalpel. But he’s a shield. That thing protects. It doesn’t hunt.”
Price was quiet for a beat, then grunted. “You think that makes it less dangerous?”
Soap didn’t answer.
Because he wasn’t sure.---
A week later, it was official.
Claire stood beside the open transport plane, clipboard in hand, her tone clinical. “Authorization finalized. Asset 17 is now your responsibility, Lieutenant.”
Asset. Not he. Not even it.
Just a number.
Soap stood rigid, arms crossed, watching as guards finished securing the restraints. Shackles wrapped around the monster’s wrists and ankles, a muzzle clamped tight over its jaw—even though it hadn’t growled in days. Chains bound its tail like a trussed beast, its entire posture locked into submission by force.
It didn’t resist.
Didn’t struggle.
It just… watched him.
Claire handed over a slim black case—the remote. Cold. Too light for how heavy it felt in Soap’s palm. “Try not to lose it,” she said with a smirk. “He tends to notice.”
Soap didn’t answer. His fingers curled tight around the device.
As the cargo plane shutter closed, Soap caught one last glimpse: the monster’s head tilted toward him.
Then darkness swallowed him whole.
Price stepped up beside Soap, gaze still on the transport. “You sure you’re ready?”
Soap exhaled slowly, thumb brushing the remote. “Doesn’t matter,” he said quietly. “Orders are orders.”
The engine roared to life.
And just like that, the monster was gone.
They transported it to the 141’s homebase—a facility used between missions. During the flight, the monster was stored in a separate cargo room, safely locked away. Soap sat across from Price inside the transport aircraft, the low drone of engines a constant background hum. The Captain had his legs crossed, a cigar between his teeth, smoke curling up beside him. His hands shuffled through a stack of mission reports.
“You think you’ve got the handle on this thing?” Price nodded toward the storage room behind them.
Soap exhaled slowly. The training had dulled some of the unease he’d carried since first seeing the thing in that underground cell. If he was honest, he even felt a flicker of excitement at the idea of watching it fight on the field. Not that he’d ever admit that to Price.
Still, there was a long way to go before he’d trust it unrestrained on a battlefield. He needed it to follow orders without hesitation, to be as reliable as the soldiers he drilled day in, day out.
“I’m good,” he said simply.
“Thought of a name yet?” Price grinned, already teasing. “How about Rex? Like a big ol’ German shepherd. Or Johnny Jr.—nice and personal. Or maybe Betty? Always a Betty in the classics. Usually a car, but hey.”
Soap gave a long, suffering sigh and shot Price an unimpressed look.
“The reports confirmed it’s male. I was thinking… Ghost. Like you and Claire called it—when it stayed hidden in the shadows of its cell.”
Price scratched at his stubble, considering it. “Ghost, huh? Fitting. Real dramatic, though. Matches your flair.”
“I’m not dramatic.”
“You call explosives ‘booms,’ Johnny.”
Soap snorted. “Rolls off the tongue faster than ‘explosives.’”