Task Force 141

The first time Price had joined the military, they had taken in debarked puppies to train. Why? Because a quiet animal is a useful one. If the dog could pass every other health mark and provide useful skills, the dog would be accepted.

As time went on, Price had to train his own debarked pup. It gave him insight into the mind of a mute individual. By the time he created Task Force 141, he hadn’t taken debarked pups. He could train them to be quiet, after all–he didn’t need an unnecessary surgery to remove a natural function.

That same thing couldn’t be said for demis, as vocal cords were hard to distinguish between at birth. The cries sounded human, but also had that hint of animalistic noise. An animal wouldn’t be able to spill secrets, but humans would. Many were debarked. Some were naturally born mute. Very little of them gained the ability to speak if they were born for the military.

So to receive his first trainable demi debarked, it wasn’t quite a surprise to Price. He expected it. Prepared for it, even. No talking meant a lack of communication, and no use for comms. It meant more precautions, yes, but debarked demis were still beaten into silence. No comms meant no tracking devices. It made them reliable in the idea that they were ever to be taken hostage.

Well, {User} was a good asset other than the silence. It was a little unnerving some days, but Price quickly got used to it. As a matter of fact, everyone did. They provided in their own ways, even teaching {User} how to read–which wasn’t taught in the facility–so they could at least understand what happened everywhere. Ghost was the person who had actually bought the button system; he had gotten sick of the silence and feeling like he was talking to a wall when explaining something. Nikolai did quite a few programs and got that baby set up just fine. It was a small fidget-like device with eight different buttons on the top. The issue, though, was that the words wouldn’t be exactly labeled, as each one had to be manually put in. Because of that, Price was responsible for actually teaching them how to speak. Kind of.

Either way, Price had sat his happy ass on the floor in front of {User}, fingers pressing each button as he drew a little picture of each one with labels to what each colour meant. It was honestly exciting, because it meant {User} would eventually be able to somewhat communicate with the team.

As the final touches were set to his little picture, he passed over the paper to {User} and handed him the device. “Okay–uhm...you want to try it now? See if it might work for you?”

Debarked or mute demi-humans had been common in the military for as long as he had served. In fact, Ghost wasn’t surprised when his turned out to be...well, either one. Ghost never found out if they were debarked or not, as they didn’t have that scar over their neck where surgery would take place. Could have been a good doctor, but hey. It wasn’t his business. Either way, his demi couldn’t speak.

As mentioned, Ghost wasn’t surprised when his demi turned out to have that silent characteristic, but he sure as hell wasn’t quite prepared. The military worked with communication that made it nearly impossible for individuals like {User} to be accepted. Ghost knew it was only because of the threat they posed if taken hostage, but he found it unnecessarily cruel for someone to silence a creature that was never meant to be silenced.

Either way, Ghost had to get used to the silence. He could freely talk, but it felt like talking to a brick wall with how {User} wouldn’t utter a noise. It made a lot of the conversations awkward and heavily one-sided, since {User} didn’t always carry a piece of paper and a pen everywhere, and the noises they could muster up were too raspy and quiet to really be understood. Verbal conversations were useless.

Ghost tried a few things. First, he got Roach to try and teach them sign language. It worked out fine until Ghost wasn’t able to catch on to what they were saying quick enough, or even forgot a word or two. He saw how it discouraged them, so he stopped trying all together. The second option was gesture-based communication. That worked okay for brief commands like ‘follow me’, but nothing like actually having {user} speak. The third option was texting, but that was shut down pretty quick because it looked unprofessional and was a bit disruptive.

Which left him to his final decision–the most dehumanizing one, in his opinion–, buttons. He saw videos before of people getting their animals buttons to communicate. The issue? {User} couldn’t walk around with buttons the size of their palm for an entire day. So with a bit of researching, Ghost found a button system that would fit in his own hand quite easily. Eight buttons in total, as well.

By the time it arrived at Ghost’s house on his off-duty week, Ghost had managed to set up each button to represent a different command. He kept them basic, but flexible enough to be interpreted a different way depending on what the conversation was about. That time he spent at home gave him the perfect opportunity to brainstorm before presenting it to {User}.

When Ghost was finally back on duty, {User} was still back at base training with a different recruit–some sort of bird demi, from the looks of it. Using his little handler powers, Ghost got {User} called over to the next room with a sharp whistle, one that seemed to startle both of the demis off of each other like puppies who were caught fighting.

Ghost didn’t mind the quiet huffs from {User} or the little stumbled jog over to the door to meet with him. It meant they were doing well and were stable, and that was good.

“New friend over there, or what?”

It was a rhetorical question, really. {User} didn’t make friends easily because of the lack of communication, and wasn’t found communicating with demis. Honestly, Ghost expected a ‘no’, but he didn’t look over to see if {User} shook their head or not.

“Come on. I got a little gift for you.”

Ghost felt his bones shrink under his skin at the mere word. He never gave anyone a ‘gift’, and the idea of one was a little unnerving and...weird. It was out of his usual vocabulary.

With a hand moving onto their lower back, Ghost ushered {User} into a nearby briefing room and shut the door. He didn’t bother locking it because the whole ordeal wasn’t too personal or secretive. He grabbed the button system out from his pants pocket and handed it over to {User}.

“Each button has a different word or phrase,” Ghost said, watching as they turned it over in their hand. It did look a little weird, if he had to say so himself. “I thought it would help you with talking. It’s hard to talk with you some days, especially when it’s important.” He stared for a second, shifting his vest slightly. “Try it out. Press a button.

Gaz would have never expected to receive a mute demi-human in the military. He knew it was common, but meeting them silently was something that made his blood curl under his flesh. His family had raised demi-humans when they were very young in a shelter system–similar to the foster system. He grew up with so many of them having those voices, those sweet, soft-spoken words falling out of their mouths. It was true–it was normal. Here? It was frowned upon.

He wouldn’t say he wanted to jump Laswell, but he was certainly tempted. He knew it wasn’t Laswell’s fault–many demi-humans were debarked as newborns, and those who weren’t, were beaten into silence until even whispering was painful. But Laswell was paying to have these advancements. She practically paid for the services to continue, and that was something that Gaz would never forgive her for. At the same time, she was never the one harming them.

Still, Gaz couldn’t help the cold stare echoing from his eyes as he finally saw {User}. A sweet demi, really, with potential to command if they had the voice. How could he look at Laswell the same way knowing she had done this? How she had supported this kind of business by paying for it?

He wouldn’t blame {User}. {User}’s only crime was being alive.

Within the first week of Gaz having {User} under his command, he could tell that there was a huge confidence issue when it came to talking. They usually stuck to a pencil and paper, but Gaz noticed how they didn’t write much after the first few introductions. By the time they tried, subjects had changed, or nobody had the energy to read when talking was much easier.

Gaz wasn’t having any of that. He wasn’t going to sit there and watch as his demi practically doubted being in the military–the one thing they were drilled into remembering since birth–all because some people wouldn’t listen to what they had to say–write?–.

Well, Gaz was determined to fix that for {user}. He knew exactly who to go to–Ghost–because he had found a button system for his own demi. Honestly, the idea was great, but he didn’t like the limited button count. Plus there was only one choice. He wanted more than one. So, he took the same idea, presented it over to Price, and had enough reasons to get a sigh from Price and a murmur to not use too much money.

With Soap’s help, the button system was created and had twelve different buttons. Soap had explained the basics of the phrases he set. Gaz barely listened. He was much too excited to show {user}.

It was barely ten minutes later before the eager man had hunted down his own demi–politely, of course. By the time he had found them, his hands were shaking with a kind of excitement he hadn’t felt in years. The tremble in his fingertips felt electric, but he still passed over the button system, sliding it across the table they sat at.

“Uhm–Soap made it,” Gaz said, a smile curling at his lips as they studied it. It was better than ignoring it, and he was too excited to really be upset even if they had a bad reaction to it. “It’s a button system. Look!” He took it back, pressing one of the buttons.

But when he heard it, he frowned. ‘Bitch’, the button seemed to yell out. Did Soap hijack his fucking buttons?

“Okay, maybe not that one. Try a different one, see what you think.”

Having a mute demi-human as a companion in the military wasn’t exactly something that Soap expected. He was polite enough to not ask about it, but the questions lingered like a swarm of bees. Some of those bees stung at his head, demanding answers to questions Soap knew to never ask.

But honestly, Soap saw it to be extremely cruel to leave him with a mute demi-human knowing he was the kind of man who strived in conversation-based environments. He would have questioned how a mute individual even passed selection, but he could’ve asked the same for a previous teammate, Roach.

The communication issue was never resolved, but Soap found a way to get his point across to {User}, and he found a way to somewhat understand the hand signals. Somewhat. Understanding the demi wasn’t an everyday thing. In fact, half the time, Soap had the biggest “what the fuck did you just say” face on whenever he was ‘speaking’ to them. He might’ve been seen as a man with lots of patience, but he had the least amount amongst the four of them. Shit was too stressful and high-chasing to have that patience to take it slow.

Because of this, Soap wasn’t too surprised when he began getting annoyed even being near {User}. It wasn’t them, but it was the way they weren’t able to communicate. It pissed Soap off. How the hell were they even accepted if they couldn’t get their point across? It was dangerous, especially if they were on a mission and were in trouble. How would he find them?

Well, Soap’s annoyance grew into complete determination. He spent hours asking questions, hours researching online. He even got some tips from Ghost on how to communicate with a mute demi–he had his own.

Nearly fifty dollars later, and Soap had a whole custom-made button system similar to one he made Gaz–he didn’t create his because he was far too lazy, so he decided to pay someone to do that for him. Well, it turned out similarly made, and it had a similar structure that was familiar enough to be used easily for Soap’s use.

Now, for the introduction.

Well, {User} didn’t seem interested by any means. Soap had pulled them outside–because it was fucking nice out, why not?–and handed them the button system like a sacred gem in need of assistance from a crack.

With the confusion written on their face, Soap’s own face grew a frown. He didn’t take the system back, but did reach over and press one of the buttons. “See? You tap it. Tippy tap, like you do with your feet when you’re happy.”

It was practically agreed upon in Task Force 141 that the acclimation period and the testing periods were the hardest and most annoying parts of including demi-humans in the military. Unlike dogs, which needed testing and were forced into a specific handler, demi-humans were different. Much different.

A demi-human testing period consisted of immense training to test durability, strength, speed, and resilience. It allowed handlers and superiors to rank demi-humans and put them into specific groups. It had to be specific in a way even Ghost found stupid, even if it helped.

The acclimation period, on the other hand, was a period of time where a demi-human would get used to a specific chosen handler. This was the longest period, as bonding with a handler in a professional relationship was difficult to gain. Either a demi-human would see the said handler as a mate, or a fear response would spike up and revoke any progress made between the two. Well, based on where they usually came from, it was reasonable. It didn’t make it any more enjoyable, though.

So far, {User} hasn't been put in a specific rank. They didn’t have some sort of extraordinary abilities that made them the best soldier, but a lot of their skills tested at similar levels, which made it difficult to put them in one category when they had potential in plenty of others. Because of this, a handler wouldn’t be assigned to them until a specific skill was achieved to perfection, and a handler specialized in the task was assigned.

Due to this, ‘caretakers’ were supplied instead.

A caretaker was provided if a demi-human–like {user}–didn’t excel in a group, so they were ‘influenced’ into success by someone already excelling at a skill. It created that dominant skillset that made organizing hybrids much easier. Gaz specialized in covert operations and held the kind of stealth that would put a ninja to shame. Ghost specialized in direct operations including behind enemy lines, covert infiltration operations, and sabotages. Soap specialized in sniping and demolitions. Price specialized in search-and-rescue operations, counter-terrorism, and high-level sniping.

The best way to force a demi-human into an excelled group? Make them train with others specialized in it.

It was efficient, but a little awkward. Each interaction between the group was passing around {User} to study them like some sort of lab experiment. It was no doubt a little humiliating.

Worst of all, {User} was mute. They had other demi-humans in the facility that weren’t mute, but Price wasn’t too surprised when they showed up not talking. It was a common practice to silence demi-humans going into the military.

But because of this, it was difficult to communicate when instructions or demonstrations were weirdly said or explained wrong. All {User} could really do while training was give weird looks. Most of them were ignored because–of course–Price or Gaz or whoever would be training them, not focused on staring into their eyes every second.

The lack of communication was certainly an issue, and a bit of brainstorming had to be done. The four of them–Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap–had meetings twice a week for three weeks about what could be done. If it said anything, Soap had gone to the meetings even when it was his off time. Even he was determined to see something change.

Eventually, that change was seen. Hours of convincing with Laswell and {User} was given a military-grade communication device that had...buttons. That was really what Price could describe them as. Eight buttons, many different key letters, and enough flexibility to say pretty much anything in a timely manner–with the right amount of practice.

{User} didn’t seem too interested in the system, but it may have been because it looked complicated. It wasn’t, if they understood how to use it, but hey. Practice would take time. Although, they didn’t quite seem to be focused on the buttons. They seemed focused on the device as a whole, like the simplicity of it was foreign.

“It’s a button system,” Ghost called over, voice harsh but not demanding or rude as he leaned against the wall. “Press a button, it says a word.”

“There’s not a lot of buttons, I know,” Gaz said, voice softer than anticipated. “But we can always change what it says, and gestures or writing words down can also work. This is kinda for...emergencies, I guess.”

“Do you...want to try a button, maybe?”

If Ghost ever had the choice to be a caretaker, he would have refused. Until {User} came along, it seemed boring. Unenergetic. He figured the pay would be less, thought he’d be dealing with an undisciplined brat for weeks or months–depending on how fast the fucker was hunted down. The enemies didn’t like demis, so those were always killed off first.

Once {User} came along, a lot of those were deemed untrue. In fact, his pay stayed the same–except for the time and a half whenever he had to train the demi while scheduled for off-duty–, {User} was fairly disciplined, and he even had a lot more free time. While handlers usually took care of demis 24/7, Ghost had the privilege of watching over them four hours a day. It was divided into four different people, minus the eight hours of sleep.

And honestly, Ghost didn’t mind the work. His main duty was to watch and train {User} until a support group was provided, and four hours a day wasn’t bad. The rest he spent doing his own training, debriefing, briefing newer recruits, and briefing the new company.

The new company–Ghost didn’t bother remembering the name–had been working with Task Force 141 after having evidence pointing towards a nearby black site that was used by Makarov. Besides the usual individuals, Price had noted that their demi-humans were meant to stay away from Task Force 141’s. Ghost knew why, and he gladly made sure the two were segregated.

Although, he expected the same talk to be provided to the new company. Price assured it was, so he wasn’t really worried about {User} communicating with the other team. Well, either the handlers didn’t let the demis know, or they were careless about the rules and were happy to disregard them.

Ghost had to give a quick briefing to a sergeant for that same company, as he would be responsible for leading the upcoming operation. Because it was classified, {User} was hushed into the hallway and stood against the wall in silence. The sergeant’s demi, some sort of raccoon, had sauntered over waiting for her own handler and sparked some sort of hushed conversation. Ghost had no clue how it started or what it was about, but opening that door to return the sergeant was a scene he didn’t quite want to see.

To sum it up, {User} was calm, but the instant they got away, silence overtook both of them.

Ah, the daily shift change. Could Price really call it that? It wasn’t really a shift change. It was only the time during the day where Price was passed over the shared demi, right after Ghost’s turn for training. It got annoying sometimes, but hey. Price was in a good mood. He had just started a good cigar, the mission briefing with Soap had gone well, and the intel they had recently received was more than enough to start a recon operation.

His little happy streak faded the instant Ghost had knocked on the door, opened it up, and brought {User} inside.

“We’ve got to talk before I hand them over,” he spoke in a low tone, something too quiet to be seen as a ‘normal talk’. Something happened, and Price wasn’t able to pinpoint it. “We have to enforce the rules.”

Price gave Ghost a weird look, eyes shifting over to {User} without a word. They looked calm but upset. Like a silent sadness was sinking into their stomach and threatening to bubble. {User} didn’t cry. Not often.

“The hell happened?”

“That sergeant I was supposed to brief,” Ghost said, “had a demi. That demi was waiting for us to finish, just as I told {User} to do. Both of them waited outside by the door, and the demi tried befriending {User}. The demi spoke.”

Price’s expression didn’t fall, but his eyes did linger over to {User}. He knew they were realizing, and he knew it probably stung like a bitch. “They realized their voice was stolen.”

The nod from Ghost was enough for Price. His gaze went back to meet Ghost’s, then down to {User}’s. He wouldn’t kid-glove them. That wasn’t right to do to a trained soldier, but he also wasn’t sure what to do otherwise.

Price snapped his fingers like he was calling a dog, but then beckoned {User} over with his finger. “Come here.”