The server room was still humming behind them, racks of machines blinking like they were breathing. Ghost stood watch near the door, rifle low but ready. Gaz was crouched over the terminal, fingers flying, muttering about encryption keys and outdated firewalls. Price hovered just behind, silent, watchful—already halfway out of the room in his head, planning exfil.
Soap stared at the screen.
The folder sat there, unassuming. No comical skulls. No yellow hazard signs. Just a designation stamped in plain black text.
TF141—POST-MISSION CASUALTY REPORTS
Soap snorted softly. “Bit dramatic, innit?”
Gaz glanced back. “Yeah. Real morale booster.”
Price didn’t smile. “What is it?”
“Could be nothing,” Gaz said. “Could be—”
“Open it,” Price ordered.
Soap hesitated, then clicked.
The folder expanded.
Four subfiles appeared instantly, as if they’d been waiting.
JOHN PRICE
JOHN MACTAVISH
SIMON RILEY
KYLE GARRICK
Soap felt the room narrow, the hum of the servers suddenly too loud, too close. His own name stared back at him—full name, proper formatting, military designation beneath it. Not a nickname. Not Soap.
His real one.
“Alright,” Gaz said, forcing a laugh that didn’t fool anyone. “That’s… weird.”
Ghost leaned in just enough to see the screen. He didn’t say anything, but Soap felt it—the shift in him. The way he bristled and went still. No one called him Simon Riley anymore. Not the General. Not the Captain. Not even the reports he fills out.
Price exhaled slowly. “Status?”
“Files are locked,” Gaz said, clicking around. “Heavy encryption. But… they’re dated.”
Soap swallowed. “Dated,” he repeated.
Gaz glanced at him, eyes hollow. “Future.”
No one spoke for a beat.
Then Price said, “That’s enough.”
Soap should’ve closed it. He knew he should’ve. But his hand moved before his brain caught up, cursor hovering over the first line.
Not his.
Gaz’s.
SUBJECT: GARRICK, KYLE
STATUS: KIA
TIME OF DEATH: 02:14 LOCAL
Soap’s breath caught.
“Gaz,” he said quietly.
Gaz leaned closer, the color draining from his face in a way not even Price had seen before. It was startling. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
More text loaded as he scrolled. It’s too late to back down now.
CAUSE: FRIENDLY FIRE DURING EXTRACTION
LOCATION: [REDACTED]
The coordinates beneath it made Soap’s stomach twist. He recognised them. Everyone in the room did.
Details followed. Radio chatter timestamps. A reference to smoke cover failing. A call for a fallback route that never came.
No shooter named.
Soap closed the file, his hands now shaking.
The room felt colder.
“That’s not a prediction,” Price said. “It’s speculation. Someone’s messing with us.”
For the first time, Ghost spoke. His voice is snippy, shockingly so. “Then why’s it accurate?”
Soap looked at him. “Accurate how?”
Ghost didn’t answer.
Price straightened. “Lock it down. We’ll hand it over to—”
Soap opened another file.
His own.
“Sergeant—” Price warned.
The file loaded slower this time, like it was thinking about it.
SUBJECT: MACTAVISH, JOHN
STATUS: KIA
Soap felt oddly calm. Like his body had decided panic would be a waste of energy.
No time.
No location.
No cause.
Just a blank space where the details should’ve been.
At the bottom of the page, a single line appeared.
SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: 3%
Gaz let out a sharp breath. “That’s not how casualty reports work.”
Soap stared at the number. Three percent. Clinical. Impersonal. Like a weather forecast.
Price grabbed the mouse and shut the file down hard. “That’s enough.”
The screen went dark.
For a moment, all Soap could hear was his own heartbeat.
“We don’t know who made this,” Price continued, voice steady, controlled. “Or why. Until we do, this stays classified. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Gaz said automatically, second nature to him—always following orders without question.
Soap nodded.
Ghost said nothing.
They moved fast after that. Drives pulled, charges set, the server room wiped clean as if it had never existed. The exfil went smoothly—too smooth. No contact. No complications.
Back aboard the transport, the team fell into the usual rhythm. Weapons checked. Gear stowed. Someone cracked a joke that Soap didn’t catch.
Ghost sat across from him, mask unreadable as ever. He’s barely spoken since they saw the file, though that’s not too out of the ordinary for him.
Soap caught him looking.
Not at his face.
At his hands.
Soap flexed his fingers slowly, grounding himself. Paper doesn’t decide this, he told himself. Files don’t pull triggers.
Still—
When Soap closed his eyes, he saw the line again.
SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: 3%
And somewhere deep in his gut, a quiet thought followed:
Three percent isn’t zero.
Not yet.
NEXT CHAPTER >
(I technically have several chapters of this already written, but idk if I want to continue so pls tell me if this is even worth anyones time lol)
Returning to my roots with some headcanons cause I feel like I never post anymore.
- When Minho was first rescued the first thing they did was check him over for any severe burns and panicked when they saw his back
- When Thomas and Minho started rooming together at the safe haven they didn’t talk to each other for like three weeks because conversation always felt empty without newt
- Thomas has really bad hallucinations about Newt most nights and all he can really do about it is either pretend it isn’t happening or hope that he’s not hallucinating and it’s actually newt
- when Minho saw Gally he genuinely thought he was still in a simulation and was almost willing to throw himself into the nearest fire to wake himself up from if
- Brenda found peace in frypan because he was so much like her brother, made her laugh, made her feel safe, made her feel like she could be vulnerable without it killing her
- Frypan went kinda crazy without Winston, watching him kill himself made him wonder what it would’ve been like if he agreed with Teresa
- Minho goes for walks on the beach to calm his nerves since the only time he ever got privacy at WCKD is when he was alone in the showers so the water is peaceful to him
- Brenda spent so much time living in a world without rain that when it does rain in the safe haven she goes for a walk with Minho despite being yelled at by Jorge
- Jorge was so afraid of losing Brenda because he saw a lot of himself in her and if he lost her he’d lose his sense of self and effectively drive himself completely insane
So I wrote these over a year ago and these are fucking insane hello?
Jegulus fans unite, I need a fic that will make me want to stay in this fandom. When I don't read, I doomscroll and do other things. The last real fic I read was around 1-2 months ago, I think, and I didn't really like it, but I need something, maybe longer than 90k words and more than 350k words. Also, please don't give me anything popular, I've read it all before. One more thing, not to be picky, but no MCD and make it either finished or have consistent updates. I'm posting a lot of places, so, idk.
