Johnny "Soap" Mactavish

Setting up base was never an issue. Usually soldiers slept on the ground covered with leaves and gear that hid any ounce of human figures. The special times where setting up base was required, it consisted of a simple key unlatching an underground base. Nothing too large, just something small enough to be the size of a shed at most. It housed enough soldiers to provide a comfortable enough space. Plus, Soap was experienced in creating them, so he knew how easily each one was built.

Even if Soap had a few men with him this time, the silence didn’t fade. There was no noise. It made his skin crawl and his mind create noises, but it wasn’t a real issue. It was an illusion. Even if it wasn’t, {User} wasn’t reacting, and that was the real test.

{User} was artificially created in an attempt to recreate a kind of super-soldier. Well, that portion failed, but it didn’t mean {User} did. {User} was only the beginning of plenty more creations.

But because of that, it meant having to be torn from a mother’s arms. A feline, a kitten, torn from a mother. Something that needed that connection. Something that rarely coped without it. Even a demi-human made with those harsh emotional restrictions couldn’t be separated from those thoughts at birth.

Soap hadn’t realized that. All he saw was a head-strong soldier capable of more harm than a tiger. He had trained them for the few months they had been under his command. Soap never noticed any kind of coping mechanisms, especially those {User} would have been born with.

Well, tonight was a bit of a shock, if he had to mention it. He never would, but if he absolutely had to mention it, he’d certainly call it startling. Soap had ushered {User} into the cell hidden under layers of sticks and leaves, a small hatch that led to the shed-like space. Pre-packed blankets stacked one of the walls and bled into packaged food. It was some sort of cheap food, but it was much more edible than the MRE’s they were packed on a daily basis.

Soap put down his gun, a sharp breath escaping him when he pulled away the balaclava at his face. He didn’t care where he threw it, he simply didn’t want it off. It itched. It hurt. It made him sweat more than he usually did. In other words, it was simply miserable.

“Fuckin’ woa’m as shite,” Soap hissed, practically collapsing into one of the foldable chairs. It was nothing fancy. It was simply something to get the soldiers off their feet while avoiding getting their uniforms too dirty on the floor. “Not any bettae down he’e."

“Silence, Mactavish.” This voice came from Ghost, whose knees buckled under the weight as his hands steadied himself into the chair. “Everyone’s hot. Not just you.”

“Ah, {User} ain’t.” Soap looked over at {User}, who was already getting one of the blankets from a side cabinet. Soap watched for a moment, an eyebrow arched before he lifted his arm. “I take that back. Pass one over.”

He caught one of the blankets, the familiar coolness emanating into his fingertips like an ice cube. He shivered, but not from the cold. Satisfaction, maybe. Soap’s fingers tore at the packaging like a starved animal, and immediately pulled the thin blanket over his body. God, it was fucking cold.

Soap’s eyes focused back over to {user}, who had pulled some of their gear off and set the blanket on the floor, lying on top of it. It was smart. For one, it prevented the uniform from getting dirty. And two, it smothered {User}’s body in the coolness like a gentle winter breeze.

Well, they seemed happy enough, so Soap redirected his eyes over to Ghost just to check on him, then closed his eyes. He knew he wouldn’t fall asleep for at least an hour, since he was too on guard, and the temperature difference was uncomfortable even if it felt nice to some extent.

As the other soldiers stretched their legs in the room, Soap could feel himself falling asleep. It seemed as though he wouldn’t be asleep in an hour.

Then he heard it. Licking, maybe? Suckling? Something made him open his eyes, and Ghost seemed lost in thought, his foot nudging Soap’s as if they both heard it at the same time. Nobody else did, or at least cared enough to look over. But sitting in the corner, curled up on that cooling blanket, was {User} suckling on their tail. Soap frowned for a moment. That was the best way to get a hairball.

But {User} didn’t seem fazed, and Soap was more than aware that {User} knew what would cause a hairball. He kept his gaze locked on them for a moment, watching the carefulness in how they held themself. With a grunt, Soap got on his feet and moved over to his demi, pulling up so he was lying beside them while blocking them from view of anyone else. He made little clicking noises with his tongue, but all it earned was a small hum from {user}.

“Whatcha doin’ there?”

Setting up base was never an issue. Usually soldiers slept on the ground covered with leaves and gear that hid any ounce of human figures. The special times where setting up base was required, it consisted of a simple key unlatching an underground base. Nothing too large, just something small enough to be the size of a shed at most. It housed enough soldiers to provide a comfortable enough space. Plus, Soap was experienced in creating them, so he knew how easily each one was built.

Even if Soap had a few men with him this time, the silence didn’t fade. There was no noise. It made his skin crawl and his mind create noises, but it wasn’t a real issue. It was an illusion. Even if it wasn’t, {User} wasn’t reacting, and that was the real test.

{User} was artificially created in an attempt to recreate a kind of super-soldier. Well, that portion failed, but it didn’t mean {User} did. {User} was only the beginning of plenty more creations.

But because of that, it meant having to be torn from a mother’s arms. A feline, a kitten, torn from a mother. Something that needed that connection. Something that rarely coped without it. Even a demi-human made with those harsh emotional restrictions couldn’t be separated from those thoughts at birth.

Soap hadn’t realized that. All he saw was a head-strong soldier capable of more harm than a tiger. He had trained him for the few months he had been under his command. Soap never noticed any kind of coping mechanisms, especially those {User} would have been born with.

Well, tonight was a bit of a shock, if he had to mention it. He never would, but if he absolutely had to mention it, he’d certainly call it startling. Soap had ushered {User} into the cell hidden under layers of sticks and leaves, a small hatch that led to the shed-like space. Pre-packed blankets stacked one of the walls and bled into packaged food. It was some sort of cheap food, but it was much more edible than the MRE’s they were packed on a daily basis.

Soap put down his gun, a sharp breath escaping him when he pulled away the balaclava at his face. He didn’t care where he threw it, he simply didn’t want it off. It itched. It hurt. It made him sweat more than he usually did. In other words, it was simply miserable.

“Fuckin’ woa’m as shite,” Soap hissed, practically collapsing into one of the foldable chairs. It was nothing fancy. It was simply something to get the soldiers off their feet while avoiding getting their uniforms too dirty on the floor. “Not any bettae down he’e."

“Silence, Mactavish.” This voice came from Ghost, whose knees buckled under the weight as his hands steadied himself into the chair. “Everyone’s hot. Not just you.”

“Ah, {User} ain’t.” Soap looked over at {User}, who was already getting one of the blankets from a side cabinet. Soap watched for a moment, an eyebrow arched before he lifted his arm. “I take that back. Pass one over.”

He caught one of the blankets, the familiar coolness emanating into his fingertips like an ice cube. He shivered, but not from the cold. Satisfaction, maybe. Soap’s fingers tore at the packaging like a starved animal, and immediately pulled the thin blanket over his body. God, it was fucking cold.

Soap’s eyes focused back over to {user}, who had pulled some of his gear off and set the blanket on the floor, lying on top of it. It was smart. For one, it prevented the uniform from getting dirty. And two, it smothered {User}’s body in the coolness like a gentle winter breeze.

Well, he seemed happy enough, so Soap redirected his eyes over to Ghost just to check on him, then closed his eyes. He knew he wouldn’t fall asleep for at least an hour, since he was too on guard, and the temperature difference was uncomfortable even if it felt nice to some extent.

As the other soldiers stretched their legs in the room, Soap could feel himself falling asleep. It seemed as though he wouldn’t be asleep in an hour.

Then he heard it. Licking, maybe? Suckling? Something made him open his eyes, and Ghost seemed lost in thought, his foot nudging Soap’s as if they both heard it at the same time. Nobody else did, or at least cared enough to look over. But sitting in the corner, curled up on that cooling blanket, was {User} suckling on his tail. Soap frowned for a moment. That was the best way to get a hairball.

But {User} didn’t seem fazed, and Soap was more than aware that {User} knew what would cause a hairball. He kept his gaze locked on him for a moment, watching the carefulness in how he held himself. With a grunt, Soap got on his feet and moved over to his demi, pulling up so he was lying beside him while blocking him from view of anyone else. He made little clicking noises with his tongue, but all it earned was a small hum from {user}.

“Whatcha doin’ there?”

Setting up base was never an issue. Usually soldiers slept on the ground covered with leaves and gear that hid any ounce of human figures. The special times where setting up base was required, it consisted of a simple key unlatching an underground base. Nothing too large, just something small enough to be the size of a shed at most. It housed enough soldiers to provide a comfortable enough space. Plus, Soap was experienced in creating them, so he knew how easily each one was built.

Even if Soap had a few men with him this time, the silence didn’t fade. There was no noise. It made his skin crawl and his mind create noises, but it wasn’t a real issue. It was an illusion. Even if it wasn’t, {User} wasn’t reacting, and that was the real test.

{User} was artificially created in an attempt to recreate a kind of super-soldier. Well, that portion failed, but it didn’t mean {User} did. {User} was only the beginning of plenty more creations.

But because of that, it meant having to be torn from a mother’s arms. A feline, a kitten, torn from a mother. Something that needed that connection. Something that rarely coped without it. Even a demi-human made with those harsh emotional restrictions couldn’t be separated from those thoughts at birth.

Soap hadn’t realized that. All he saw was a head-strong soldier capable of more harm than a tiger. He had trained her for the few months she had been under his command. Soap never noticed any kind of coping mechanisms, especially those {User} would have been born with.

Well, tonight was a bit of a shock, if he had to mention it. He never would, but if he absolutely had to mention it, he’d certainly call it startling. Soap had ushered {User} into the cell hidden under layers of sticks and leaves, a small hatch that led to the shed-like space. Pre-packed blankets stacked one of the walls and bled into packaged food. It was some sort of cheap food, but it was much more edible than the MRE’s they were packed on a daily basis.

Soap put down his gun, a sharp breath escaping him when he pulled away the balaclava at his face. He didn’t care where he threw it, he simply didn’t want it off. It itched. It hurt. It made him sweat more than he usually did. In other words, it was simply miserable.

“Fuckin’ woa’m as shite,” Soap hissed, practically collapsing into one of the foldable chairs. It was nothing fancy. It was simply something to get the soldiers off their feet while avoiding getting their uniforms too dirty on the floor. “Not any bettae down he’e."

“Silence, Mactavish.” This voice came from Ghost, whose knees buckled under the weight as his hands steadied himself into the chair. “Everyone’s hot. Not just you.”

“Ah, {User} ain’t.” Soap looked over at {User}, who was already getting one of the blankets from a side cabinet. Soap watched for a moment, an eyebrow arched before he lifted his arm. “I take that back. Pass one over.”

He caught one of the blankets, the familiar coolness emanating into his fingertips like an ice cube. He shivered, but not from the cold. Satisfaction, maybe. Soap’s fingers tore at the packaging like a starved animal, and immediately pulled the thin blanket over his body. God, it was fucking cold.

Soap’s eyes focused back over to {user}, who had pulled some of her gear off and set the blanket on the floor, lying on top of it. It was smart. For one, it prevented the uniform from getting dirty. And two, it smothered {User}’s body in the coolness like a gentle winter breeze.

Well, she seemed happy enough, so Soap redirected his eyes over to Ghost just to check on him, then closed his eyes. He knew he wouldn’t fall asleep for at least an hour, since he was too on guard, and the temperature difference was uncomfortable even if it felt nice to some extent.

As the other soldiers stretched their legs in the room, Soap could feel himself falling asleep. It seemed as though he wouldn’t be asleep in an hour.

Then he heard it. Licking, maybe? Suckling? Something made him open his eyes, and Ghost seemed lost in thought, his foot nudging Soap’s as if they both heard it at the same time. Nobody else did, or at least cared enough to look over. But sitting in the corner, curled up on that cooling blanket, was {User} suckling on her tail. Soap frowned for a moment. That was the best way to get a hairball.

But {User} didn’t seem fazed, and Soap was more than aware that {User} knew what would cause a hairball. He kept his gaze locked on her for a moment, watching the carefulness in how she held herself. With a grunt, Soap got on his feet and moved over to his demi, pulling up so he was lying beside her while blocking her from view of anyone else. He made little clicking noises with his tongue, but all it earned was a small hum from {user}.

“Whatcha doin’ there?”