Thoughts of Brainwashed!Soap has been consuming me for the past two weeks, so I have finally written a lil drabble to get the thoughts to stop eating away at me
730 Words // Johnny x gn!reader but nothing romantic happens // violence, brainwashing, and angst //
A sudden searing pain in your wrists is what woke you. That pain was quickly sidelined by the pulse in your head, the constant, throbbing pain radiating from the back of your skull.
Opening your eyes the sight before you is blurry, but it’s a familiar enough space that you know exactly what was going on. You were in an interrogation room, and not on the side that you would prefer to be on.
Johnny, your Johnny has been MIA for three months and you finally had enough. You all had. Simon had gone completely silent, it took weeks for him to act anywhere near what you would consider normal. Kyle drowned himself in the gym, working his knuckles to bloody pulps on any surface he could hit. You barely even saw your captain anymore. John had locked himself in his office, dipping into his stock of bourbon and scotch far more than he should have been.
You were left a shell of yourself. Your lover of five years was taken from you. Taken from you by the enemy. You took to planning right away, forcing your teammates to work with you to find a way to bring your Johnny home. That process had been unrewarding for a while.
But finally you got a tip… then that tip went sideways. That’s how you wound up here, cuffed to a chair with a blaring headache.
Your eyes were forced to adjust as a light entered the room from the door across from you and in walked a man. He stood before you with a smirk before stepping to the side to allow another to enter.
A gasp ripped itself from the very core of your being as you saw him, your Johnny standing before you and alive.
“Johnny!” Your voice was a soft cry, it was barely even a word, a sound that burst itself out of your throat.
Johnny stepped forward to the opposite side of the table. Reeling back his hand he brought the backside of it across your face, hitting you hard enough for you to see white for a moment.
“Silence,” he stated plainly. His voice was cold and distant, nothing like the voice you had grown to love.
Johnny made his way to the corner of the room as the other man came forward.
“I see you know our newest mutt,” he spoke with a thick Russian accent as a suave smirk spread across his face.
Tears burned your eyes as you brought your head back up. Your cheek was burning and was sure to be red by now. Your eyes locked back onto Johnny, his beautiful blues not leaving your face for a second.
The man huffed as he saw where your gaze was focused. “It’s rude not to make eye contact with the person speaking to you.”
“Fuck you,” you spat, finally looking towards the man.
He snickered quietly as he stepped back from the table. You turned your gaze back to Johnny.
“Johnny please, Johnny it’s me, you have to know it’s me baby listen to me!” You pleaded with him.
The man’s laughter rose, “The man you once knew is gone,” he crossed his arms, “he’s but a shred of what he once was, but I can tell you that he still makes a great soldier. He’s an excellent attack dog, does everything I say,” his tone was like ice on your skin, it made the hair stand up on your arms and the back of your neck.
“That’s not true,” your voice was shrill and lacking in conviction, “he’s still in there, he knows me.”
The man steps forward once more, slamming his hands on the table before you.
“I broke him. Broke him down to nothing but his instincts and his ability to listen, understand? He’s gone.” He stands back up, looking down at you. “I think you’ll make a lovely attack dog yourself.” He walks back to Johnny, taking his face in his hand and turning it towards him. “Don’t you think?” He asks Johnny.
“Yes sir,” he responds pointedly, without hesitation.
Your whole body felt white hot with rage, your breath coming in ragged gasps. “You’re wrong, I’ll save him. You can’t break me.”
The man laughed, it was an awfully cruel sound. His head turned to look at you, his grin wide.
He pushed open the rusted and creaky metal door, looking around the darkened room. The room was full of cylinders, all full of a glowing gas that seemed to be a strange honeydew color. As he looked around the warehouse, he spotted a bomb, akin to the one that had been in the tunnel the day he'd lost Soap. His heart ached as he remembered how empty those formerly vibrant blue eyes were.
He shook it off, and resumed looking around the warehouse. He opened up a filing cabinet, scanning through the files. They were all in Russian, which he couldn't understand. He groaned, but moved past the cabinet.
He went over to a desk, running his hand over the papers which were covered in scribbled Russian. The handwriting looked almost familiar yet wrong somehow. Like someone had tried to mimic how Soap wrote and failed, but had come away with a twisted perversion of his writing style.
Ghost sighed, shaking his head and moving away from the desk. There was nothing else, except the walls full of those gas filled cylinders. He put his hand to his radio. “Bravo 0-6, this is Bravo 0-7. Do you copy?”
He looked around, not hearing the footsteps behind him. “Bravo 0-7, we hear you loud and clear. What did you find?” Price’s voice came over the radio, and Ghost opened his mouth to respond, only to feel the butt of a rifle hit the back of his head. As he fell, the edges of his vision going black, he caught a glimpse of a dark brown mohawk and emerald green eyes.
“Godmother, Rise Up, I Need You to See Me For What I Have Become”
and here arrives the second chapter! This was fun 🤭
Taglist: @sergeantwoods @echoingbiconfusion @forestshadow-wolf @ineedassistance28 @nagyanna424 @monmonbunie @skeletalwash @secondarily-firstly @n4m3l3ss-c10wn @havoc973 @msmongoose @azliver @wolfroach @fluttbydream @undomesticated-threat @27potatochips @sapchat @traumschwinge @yourfavoritelemonhehe @nocturniquettesworld @eiraeths (my apologies if anyone is not getting tagged)
Chapter Two: "Tears Laced With Cyanide"
Ghost blinked his eyes open, only to find himself in an empty cell. He felt the slight burn in his elbows before he felt the rough wood of the chair. He struggled a little, although to no avail, so he chose to look around instead of wasting his energy struggling.
The walls were a monotonous shade of grey, and they were made out of concrete. There was a singular barred window, high up on the wall, although it did nothing to lighten the bleak atmosphere that the room seemed to be weighed down by.
There was a table near him, covered by an old and tattered cloth. There were torture tools on there, all showing signs of beginning to rust. ‘Good thing I got my tetanus shot recently,’ he thought, with a roll of his eyes.
The door creaked open, and Ghost looked over, spotting Makarov. He let out an annoyed breath, glaring at the Russian. “Makarov. I take it that my...accomodations were due to your request?” He asked, leaning back the best he could.
Makarov laughed, a wicked sound. “Ах, маленький призрак. I take it you took on your...disgraced lover’s role?” He came closer as he taunted the specter, without an ounce of remorse.
Ghost narrowed his eyes. “He’s not in this conversation.” He said, forcing his voice to stay level. He noticed how Makarov’s eyes flashed with something sadistic, and Ghost felt anxiety pool in his stomach.
“Isn’t he?” Makarov asked, before turning back to the door. “Войдите, Наутилус.” He ordered.
Ghost felt his heart sink as a man walked in. Emerald eyes locked onto him, and it felt like cold scales coiled around his throat, making it hard to breathe.
The tension was thick, like an old oak tree. Ghost felt his hands shake, staring at the newcomer.
The rope of silence was cut with a hushed whisper that fell from Ghost's lips.
“Johnny?”
(translations: Ах, маленький призрак. = Ah, the little Ghost; Войдите, = Come in,)
He stepped out of the heli, nodding to Nikolai. He readjusted his hat, stepping towards the warehouse.
“Be warned, Gaz, this could be another trap.” Price’s voice crackled over the radio, his voice sounding strained. Gaz let out a breath.
“Don’t worry, cap, I’m on high alert.” He promised, before heading into the warehouse. He took down a couple Konni guards, before slipping into the next room. He looked around, before speaking into his radio. “Cap, there's various canisters filled with a honeydew colored gas.”
“Copy that. What else do you see?” Price asked, and Gaz looked around again, scanning the room.
“There’s a filing cabinet and a desk, as well as an inactive bomb.” He muttered, his hand clenching as he remembered that day in the tunnel. He stepped towards the desk as Price’s voice came back over the radio.
“Watch yourself, sergeant. We don't need any more losses, least of all you.” He muttered. Gaz let out a breath.
“Affirmative.” He responded, before picking up a paper from the desk. He scanned over the Russian words, only recognizing the signature, ‘Наутилус’, from some of the files they'd gotten on raids. “Nautilus…” He mumbled. “Who is this guy?” He mused out loud, checking the room and listening for anyone before moving to the filing cabinet. He opened it up, and began scanning the files.
Most of them were labeled as ‘Наутилус’, with sets of numbers afterwards. Gaz gravitated towards one labeled ‘Наутилус 145’. He picked it up, scanning through it, using his very limited Russian knowledge. There was mention of a chip inside someone's head, which made no sense to Gaz, but he brushed it off. He sighed, continuing on. He went over to the bomb, trailing a hand over it. His hand ran over a carving and he stopped, grabbing his flashlight and turning it on.
The carving was of a bomb, overgrown with thistles. Gaz felt his heart stop, and his breathing stopped.
It couldn't be. He was dead.
But no one else uses this symbol. It has to be him.
Then why would it be on a Konni bomb?
“Fuck. This isn't good.” He cursed. He fumbled with his radio, grabbing a couple files and the notes. “Captain, are you there?”
Price immediately answered. “Affirmative, talk to me, Gaz.”
Gaz looked down at the notes, his heart pounding as he finally clocked why the handwriting looked so familiar. “I’ve finally figured out who Nautilus is.” He said, his voice cracking.
