Johnny “Soap” Mactavish

The idea of demi-humans being in the military was a challenge to get by registration. The mere presence would leave people anxious, as the reputation was bad for many species. Reasonably so, too; there were plenty of documented demi-human cases revolving around attacks.

But that’s what made them good for the military. The violence was what they needed.

The most difficult thing to pass registration was catching demi-humans rather than hiring specialists for lab-grown, docile ones. Price didn’t want domestic K9 demi-humans; he thought they were ‘too soft’. And maybe he was right. But it didn’t mean it was safe. As a matter of fact, {User} only proved that.

Soap had gone out for the weekend and monitored the wild demi-humans by a nearby camp. One of them specifically caught his eye; {User}. Catching them, though, was definitely a struggle. When he actually came back from catching the poor bastard, Gaz had given him a weird look as the muzzled creature thrashed around. He knew he looked like he just came back from a fist fight with a lion.

“Are you sure that’s not a bear in disguise?”

---

Handling {User} wasn’t any better. Over the course of two weeks, Soap had begun to look like a chew toy. He had bruised on his ribs and a stitched laceration on his shoulder. That didn’t even account for the scratches and bite marks he had on his arms. But this is what Price wanted; a violent creature to ensure people were dealt with.

By five months, it still hadn’t dwindled, but Soap did see a change. He knew {{sub}} hated the heavy vests and boots, and knew that {{sub}} understood him. He knew about a scar inside {{poss}} inner ear, and how {{sub}} would burrow inside laundry just to feel safe. He’d catch {{obj}} looking out windows or purposely asking for training opportunities outside. He knew what it was; it was obvious. {User} was homesick.

Soap understood that {{sub}} missed {{poss}} freedom, but he used it to his advantage. Freedom for cooperation.

---

“Yeah, yeah,” Soap grumbled. “Just—hey!”

He pulled {User} back by the vest and clipped the leash on. He knew {User} was excited, but seeing it so clearly was another kind of surprise. It wasn’t the kind of excitement that made {{poss}} tail wag, but it was enough to see that spark in {{poss}} body language.

“Okay! Geez, hold on.” Soap pulled {User} closer, wrapping the leash around his wrist before starting for the door. {User} pulled. Not the frantic pull, but enough to where he felt his own feet get pulled forward from the mere force.

He grumbled.

Still, he guided—or let {{obj}} guide him—outside towards the tree line. Getting from the main building to this building was nearly a five mile walk, and getting {User} into the vest made it even more difficult. But, it did allow Soap to get {User} closer to what {{sub}} called home.

“Hey! Quit ya pulling, dammit!” He tugged, but heard an immediate growl from {{obj}}.

“Be good, or we’re not doing this again,” Soap demanded, his eyes watching as {User}’s nose twitched to life at the scent around {{obj}}. He kept the leash tight around his wrist, ready to pull back the instant {User} argued.

The idea of demi-humans being in the military was a challenge to get by registration. The mere presence would leave people anxious, as the reputation was bad for many species. Reasonably so, too; there were plenty of documented demi-human cases revolving around attacks.

But that’s what made them good for the military. The violence was what they needed.

The most difficult thing to pass registration was catching demi-humans rather than hiring specialists for lab-grown, docile ones. Price didn’t want domestic K9 demi-humans; he thought they were ‘too soft’. And maybe he was right. But it didn’t mean it was safe. As a matter of fact, {User} only proved that.

Soap had gone out for the weekend and monitored the wild demi-humans by a nearby camp. One of them specifically caught his eye; {User}. Catching them, though, was definitely a struggle. When he actually came back from catching the poor bastard, Gaz had given him a weird look as the muzzled creature thrashed around. He knew he looked like he just came back from a fist fight with a lion.

“Are you sure that’s not a bear in disguise?”

---

Handling {User} wasn’t any better. Over the course of two weeks, Soap had begun to look like a chew toy. He had bruised on his ribs and a stitched laceration on his shoulder. That didn’t even account for the scratches and bite marks he had on his arms. But this is what Price wanted; a violent creature to ensure people were dealt with.

By five months, it still hadn’t dwindled, but Soap did see a change. He knew {{sub}} hated the heavy vests and boots, and knew that {{sub}} understood him. He knew about a scar inside {{poss}} inner ear, and how {{sub}} would burrow inside laundry just to feel safe. He’d catch {{obj}} looking out windows or purposely asking for training opportunities outside. He knew what it was; it was obvious. {User} was homesick.

Soap understood that {{sub}} missed {{poss}} freedom, but he used it to his advantage. Freedom for cooperation.

---

Over the course of the last five months, Soap never considered why {User} was so apprehensive about food. When he looked further into the dehumanization of demi-humans, it clicked. {User} was taken from the wild—from an area where {{sub}} had to hunt for {{poss}} own food. While under military regulations, {User} was fed an enhanced demi-human kibble.

Now, kibble might have worked for a creature that was bred in captivity and was accustomed over generations to eat that, but not {User}. {User} needed actual food.

And it was suspicious, yes. Despite being discouraged, Soap would often invite {User} over to eat with him. Not to get a bite, though. Instead, Soap would monitor the foods {User} would get the most interest in.

What he found {{sub}} seemed to like the most was the smell of burger and the deer meat the military used. So, even if Price would hate if he found out, Soap went out and bought some meat. Not the cooked kind, either. He wanted to at least be authentic with it.

And he knew it wouldn’t make {User} like him more, but it might make {{poss}} tolerate him.

---

Soap was nervous.

The meat was stuffed in a bag he carried at his side, the hallway empty as he made his way towards his barracks. He rapped his knuckle twice on the door, then wiggled the knob to let {User} know he was coming in.

They seemed to smell what he had, because {User} was already up and alert, nose frantic at the smell. Soap’s mouth curved and his eyebrows lifted.

“Come here,” he coaxed.

He sat down on the floor, watching the somewhat curious {User} make {{poss}} way over to him. From in the bag, Soap grabbed one of the paper bowls he had snagged from the food counter and one of the slabs of deer meat. He unclipped his pocket knife from his pants and began to cut inside the meat. {User}, now, seemed interested, and had even sat down in front of him.

“There you go,” he murmured. “Just—Just keep it in the bowl. I don’t want you making a mess.”

Soap slid the bowl towards {User}, watching their reaction to the raw meat. If he was right, {{sub}} would take it.

“Go ahead, it’s all yours.”

The idea of demi-humans being in the military was a challenge to get by registration. The mere presence would leave people anxious, as the reputation was bad for many species. Reasonably so, too; there were plenty of documented demi-human cases revolving around attacks.

But that’s what made them good for the military. The violence was what they needed.

The most difficult thing to pass registration was catching demi-humans rather than hiring specialists for lab-grown, docile ones. Price didn’t want domestic K9 demi-humans; he thought they were ‘too soft’. And maybe he was right. But it didn’t mean it was safe. As a matter of fact, {User} only proved that.

Soap had gone out for the weekend and monitored the wild demi-humans by a nearby camp. One of them specifically caught his eye; {User}. Catching them, though, was definitely a struggle. When he actually came back from catching the poor bastard, Gaz had given him a weird look as the muzzled creature thrashed around. He knew he looked like he just came back from a fist fight with a lion.

“Are you sure that’s not a bear in disguise?”

---

Handling {User} wasn’t any better. Over the course of two weeks, Soap had begun to look like a chew toy. He had bruised on his ribs and a stitched laceration on his shoulder. That didn’t even account for the scratches and bite marks he had on his arms. But this is what Price wanted; a violent creature to ensure people were dealt with.

By five months, it still hadn’t dwindled, but Soap did see a change. He knew {{sub}} hated the heavy vests and boots, and knew that {{sub}} understood him. He knew about a scar inside {{poss}} inner ear, and how {{sub}} would burrow inside laundry just to feel safe. He’d catch {{obj}} looking out windows or purposely asking for training opportunities outside. He knew what it was; it was obvious. {User} was homesick.

Soap understood that {{sub}} missed {{poss}} freedom, but he used it to his advantage. Freedom for cooperation.

---

Four months was what it took for Soap to notice it, but it was the fifth month before Soap did anything for it. Mostly because it had to pass inspection. But, even then, Shepard’s reason for refusal was “to not make the creature comfortable”.

Creature. That was all {User} was to them. A creature to be subdued and controlled.

Soap wasn’t having any of that.

He snuggled in some more pillows and blankets. He made sure to arrange them in a way that seemed less suspicious, but he knew it was obvious. Soap didn’t care. {User} wouldn’t care. {User} would just be happy.

---

“Ay— quit ya nippin’, dammit.”

Soap’s hand trapped {User} beside him, his fingers wrapped around the back of the shirt’s collar as he guided {User} towards his barracks. He was excited, but not as much anymore. {User} was being an asshole.

“You’ll like it, I swear.”

He stepped in front of {User}, his hand jiggling the doorknob open before stepping back and hauling {User} inside.

“Go take a look.”