Soap spent half the night convincing Ghost that Y/n wouldn't maul anyone and the other half convincing Price that having a wild apex hybrid in the safe house was 'great for morale.' So when he finally collapsed on his bunk, Y/n curled up against his ribs like a warm, silent predator ball, Soap just threw an arm over them and instantly knocked out.
For a while, everything stayed still. But around 02:17, Y/n's eyes opened. Their ears twitched at every sound. Their eyes glowed faintly in the dark. And their instincts whispered: Find warmth. Find the safest place. Soap was warm, sure. But Soap snored like a dying lawnmower.
Y/n silently climbed out of Soap's bed, padded across the hall on light, predator silent feet, opened another door… and slipped into Ghost's bed like they owned it. Ghost woke up because something touched him. He opened his eyes cautiously.
There was Y/n, asleep half on top of him, tail over his hip, one hand clutching the hem of his t-shirt like Ghost was their comfort blanket. Ghost stared. Hard. "…What the fuck." He muttered.
Y/n purred. The hybrid nuzzled into his collarbone.
Ghost slowly, carefully, lifted his hands like he was being held at gunpoint by a toddler. "I didn't invite this." He whispered to the darkness. He lay there, wide awake for three hours, contemplating every life choice that led to this moment.
Morning 0700AM
Soap stumbled into the kitchen, half-asleep, scratching his head. "Anyone seen Y/n? They weren't in my-" He stopped.
Ghost was sitting unusually still, staring into his coffee like it had wronged him.
Soap: "…what happened to you?"
Ghost glared at Soap. "Your creature slept in my bed."
Y/n padded out of the hallway, stretching sleepily, then walked straight past Soap.
Soap crossed his arms feeling betrayed. "I thought we had a bond!"
Price pinched the bridge of his nose. "Johnny, control your hybrid."
Soap held up his hands helplessly. "I- Cap, I swear I put 'em in my room."
Price raised a brow. "And yet Ghost woke up being used as a pillow."
Ghost growled. "I am not a pillow."
Y/n gently butted their forehead into his hip affectionately.
Ghost: "Stop that."
Soap pulls Y/n off of Ghost and really caught a whiff of their scent and physically recoiled. "Alright. Wee beastie, you're gettin' a bath."
The hybrid froze. Their ears went flat. Their tail puffed up like an angry cat. Gaz saw this and backed up immediately. "Soap. Don't do it. Don't just let them live dirty. Dirt is fine. Dirt is natural."
"No, it's not." Price said sternly, though he didn't get any closer.
Ghost just muttered. "Put it outside and let the rain do it."
Soap ignored all of them. He scooped them up and Y/n instantly went limp not relaxed, dramatically boneless, hanging from his arms like a possum pretending to be dead. Soap sighed. "Don't give me that look."
Y/n, still limp, twisted their head just enough to glare at Price.
Price nodded. "…Good luck." He made no move to help.
"I'll observe." Ghost said. "For safety."
Soap turned on the water. Y/n stiffened instantly. Their muscles bunched. Ears flattened. Tail puffed. Soap soothed. "Easy… easy now. It’s just water." He dipped a hand in to show them. "See? Not dangerous." Y/n sniffed. Soap reached toward them with warm water cupped in his hand. Y/n SHRIEKED.
Soap flinched. "OH COME ON!"
Y/n climbed up his torso like a tree, claws digging into his shirt but not piercing skin. They perched on his shoulder hissing at the tub.
Twenty minutes later: Soap was soaked, covered in scratch marks, and traumatized. Y/n was clean. Fluffy. Wrapped them in a towel burrito and carried them out proudly. Y/n peeked out, hair sticking in all directions, smelling like soap instead of 'abandoned laboratory dirt.'
Soap carried them out like a proud dad. "Clean as a whistle. Who's a good hybrid? You are~"
Price looked up from his desk. "How'd it go?"
Soap beamed. "Brilliant. Perfect. Piece of cake."
Ghost: "We all know that's a lie."
Outside the door the team heard muffled yelling: "GET BACK HERE!" "WHY IS IT CLIMBING THE WALL?!" "Quit! Fightin! Me!"
Ghost poked Y/n and slightly scratched their chin. "Feral little thing."
Y/n growled softly and hid their face in the towel, mortified but secretly pleased.
_______________________________________
Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
_______________________________________
@skullcrawler @goodsoup19 @sheepispink @z-wantstowrite @spiderfly-tree-rat @call-sign-runner @theonewhoshallbeunnamed @magicwriterinspo @the-alt-account-for-fics @rosegold-darling @hellishbimbo @weathered-and-worn @kerst666 @skullcrawler @my-anime-garden @atlasbatman05
Task Force 141 x Omega OCs | Main Pairing: Ghost xOC
Content & Warnings: Omegaverse, Multiple OCs, Mention of Violence and Sexual Content
Word Count: ~7.5k
A/N: Warning, POV swap this chapter! 💜 Remember to check the tags (which contain spoilers) if you need them in the endnotes on AO3!
AO3 Link | Masterlist
The sun dipped behind distant hills as the SUV crept down the long driveway toward the manor. The place rose out of the valley like a relic. Wide stone walls, dark windows, and rows of oaks shadowing the path made the place feel out of place from the rest of the town’s quaint sprawl.
On the front porch stood a blonde woman with her arms folded, a cardigan wrapped tight around her shoulders. She didn’t move as the vehicle slowed, watching it park in her driveway.
Price was the first out, his hat tipped low, eyes sunken from lack of sleep. “Appreciate you taking us in,” he said, offering a hand. His voice carried that low rasp of someone running on caffeine and stubbornness.
The woman took his hand with a firm grip. “‘Course,” she said. Her voice carried a soft, somewhat familiar Southern drawl, but there was steel under it. Her gaze shifted past him to Ghost as he climbed out of the driver’s seat.
The moment she saw him, something in her face changed. There was a hint of recognition. Not of him specifically, but of what he was to Boo.
“Damn,” she murmured. “Y’all look like you’ve been chewed up and spit out.”
Ghost didn’t answer, just nodded once and adjusted the strap of his duffel. The dark circles beneath his eyes were dramatic even under the light of the porch.
The woman stepped aside, pushing the door open. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get y’all settled before you start haunting the place.”
She chuckles to herself before leading the two men in.
Inside, the manor smelled faintly of coffee, lemon polish, and something floral that had long since soaked into the wood. The hallways were neat, the furniture expensive, but lived-in. Blankets draped over couches, a toy truck was tipped on its side near the stairs, small little details that showed the manor was more than just looks, it was a home.
Price thanked her again as she led them to the guest rooms upstairs. Ghost dropped his bag on the bed with a dull thud and didn’t bother to unpack before heading straight back downstairs.
“I’ll give you some space,” the woman told Price, before disappearing into another part of the large manor.
By the time the woman rejoined them, the dining room had been transformed into a makeshift command center.
Files from Laswell were spread across the table, laptops open to maps and satellite images. Coffee cups sat half-drunk and mostly forgotten between reports.
She leaned up against the doorframe, watching the two of them work.
Ghost stood hunched over the table, unmoving except for his hand dragging across a trackpad. Price lingered nearby, rubbing his jaw, eyes scanning but not really landing on anything.
“We’ve gone through every checkpoint, every report from the locals,” Price muttered. “There’s not a single trace of her.”
“Then we’re missing something,” Ghost said.
His voice was flat yet raw at the same time.
He leaned forward, elbows braced on the table, eyes flickering from map to photo like he could will a clue into existence. “She didn’t just vanish.”
The steady hum of laptop fans was the only sound in the room. Price exhaled slowly and sat, elbows resting on the table beside a crumpled mission report.
“You should rest,” the woman said finally. “Both of you. You can’t track anyone running on fumes.”
Neither man moved.
The doorbell rang.
The woman pushed herself off the wall with a sigh and padded toward the front door, cardigan slipping slightly off one shoulder.
The second she opened it, a small voice chirped. “Mama!”
She softened instantly, tone melting into a motherly warmth. “Hi, baby,” she murmured with a smile.
“Mo,” a man greets.
“Rosco,” Mo greets back with a nod. “Come on in, they’re back here.”
Mo walks back into the room, a blonde boy on her hip, wide eyes staring at the strangers in his house, while curling up against her neck.
Rosco followed behind, his presence filling the space in a quieter, steadier way than the soldiers that were already inside.
All three men exchanged nods and quiet, mumbled greetings. Rosco’s gaze lingered a second longer on Ghost, taking him in, but not saying what he very much would like to.
He clears his throat a little. “Thought y’all might want some help,” he said finally. “I’m familiar with the area. Probably less biased than any witnesses you’ve got.”
Price’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you mean, biased?”
Rosco hesitated, glancing briefly at Mo. She furrowed her brows slightly and gave him a quick nod, as if giving him permission to continue.
“Because the cops are on Shadow Company’s payroll…” he says, slow and unsure. Like he figured the men knew, but weren’t addressing it for some reason.
The silence that followed hit like a gunshot.
Ghost’s head tilted slowly, eyes lowering on Rosco. “Say that again,” he said, voice low and chillingly calm.
Rosco did his best not to flinch. “Half the precinct’s bought, maybe more. Won’t file reports, won’t follow leads unless Shadow gives the word.” His jaw tightened. “They’ve been running things here for a long time. ‘Specially when it comes to omegas.”
Henry shifted slightly in Mo’s arms, and she took it as an opportunity to remove him from the tension in the room with a small, “Excuse me, gentleman.”
There’s a few beats of silence as the sound of her footsteps recedes into the manor.
“She could be anywhere,” Ghost said coldly. “They’ve probably covered every track.”
He starts to spiral, eyes lost on the piles of documents, looking at words that mean nothing now. Boo’s own words come back to him.
“My choice of words were ‘yessir’ and ‘no sir’. Anything besides that usually led to more issues for me.”
“...you know how they have it in with the law, so there wasn’t nothin’ I could do afterward.”
Price finally places a firm hand on Ghost’s shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. “We’ll find her,” said as a statement, not encouragement.
Ghost shook his head. “It was right in front of us this whole time.”
“And we have no time to dwell on that.”
Rosco clears his throat again, breaking the tension and doing his best not to overstep with the two alphas. “I’ve got a few folks who still owe me favors,” he starts slowly before gaining a bit more confidence. “People Shadow don’t bother watching. Truck stops, freight yards, back routes… People who have most likely seen something without realizing that they have.”
He straightens a little as the two alphas give him the air to talk. “Murphy can help, too. If there’s a trail, he may be able to sniff out anything they failed to cover up.”
Price nodded. “Alright, good. Let’s go through some routes and contacts. Simon, get some rest.”
“Negative.”
“That was an order, Lieutenant. See you in eight.”
Mo looks down at her wrist before addressing the phantom in the doorway. “You made it six,” she says, lowering her arm. “Longer than I expected.”
It’s dark outside, but not quite the deep, suffocating black that indicates the early hours. The kind of dark where the world hasn’t fully gone to sleep yet. It’s just quieter.
A familiar bottle of whiskey sits loose in her hand, her phone rests in the other. It’s screen casting up onto the large TV across from her.
Shaky footage plays, showing her and Boo, younger and louder.
Mo finally glances over her shoulder.
Ghost stands in the doorway, not saying anything.
She jerks her chin and pats the couch beside her. “C’mon, Ghost,” she says with a small giggle. “You’re making the place look haunted.”
He doesn’t move.
Mo shrugs like she expected that, taking a long swig straight from the bottle before setting it against her thigh. “Suit yourself.”
She flicks to the next video.
Music bursts through the speakers. It’s loud and obnoxious, playing over some footage of what appears to be a phone propped up on a table at a bar. Boo is in the center of it, already squared up with a group of alphas twice her size.
“Nova,” Mo says, hanging off her arm, clearly trying to pull her back.
The alpha says something that the phone doesn’t pick up, but Boo does. Her expression shifts instantly, eyes going feral.
Right as the beat drops, she swings. Her fist connects with the biggest one’s jaw, snapping his head back before he even registers the hit, making him crumple.
Mo breaks out into laughter, shoulders shaking as she leans forward. “Oh my God—” she breathes, wiping at her eye. “I always forget how hard that first guy falls.”
She points lazily at the screen. “Look at the way he just drops.”
The video loops, and Mo pauses it, her laughter starting to die down.
“Ah,” she sighs, eyes lingering on the frozen frame. “What a wild one she was.”
Ghost’s gaze doesn’t waver from the screen.
“She still is,” he says quietly.
Mo hums, tipping her head side to side like she’s weighing that. “Yeah,” she draws, taking another sip of whiskey. “Bet she is.”
She flicks her finger, bringing up the next video.
It’s a compilation of Boo riding horses set to Pretty Little Devil. The horse's hooves sync up to the beat before it switches to a video of Boo removing her jacket in the snow, steam billowing around her from her body heat.
“These are all the silly little TikTok videos I’d make when I was bored. At least, of her,” Mo explains to Ghost. “It’s one of my little doing-nothing projects. I document everything, take a million photos and videos. When I have time, I get them all organized so I can watch them later.”
Another swipe.
Now it’s Mo wrapped around the neck of a massive bull, grinning like it’s just an oversize puppy, while Boo stands a few feet back, hands on her hips.
“That fucker is a menace,” Boo drawls on the screen. “How he puts up with you is a damn mystery.”
The light from the TV flickers across Mo’s face, catching the way her smile doesn’t quite hold.
Ghost steps further into the room, but doesn’t take a seat. Mo notices, but doesn’t comment on it.
Instead, she lets the next video play.
It’s Boo again, this time quieter. She’s sitting on a fence post, staring off into the distance. The video picks up the world around her. The occasional bug or bird making their presence known.
Mo watches it for a long time, letting it loop.
“She’d get like that sometimes,” she murmurs. “Real quiet. Like she was somewhere else entirely.”
Ghost’s voice is low. “Planning.”
Mo glances at him, something like approval in her eyes. “Yeah,” she says. “Something like that.”
Silence stretches between the two as the video keeps looping.
Mo exhales slowly, leaning her head back against the couch and closing her eyes. “She’s gonna be okay.”
Ghost doesn’t answer right away.
“You don’t know that,” he says eventually.
“I do,” she replies easily.
Her eyes open again, but she doesn’t look at him yet. “Did you know she’d been sent there before? The Shadow facility.”
Ghost's head lifts slightly. “No,” he says carefully.
Mo lets out a long, slow breath through her nose. “Figures. She hardly told me ‘bout it.”
She adjusts the bottle in her hand before taking another sip. “After Noah passed… Nova lost it. Not all at once, just…” She vaguely gestures. “...bit by bit.”
She shifts in her seat slightly before continuing. “She had a temper on her already, but after that?” She lets out a breath. “She was just… mean. Wouldn’t hardly listen to a damn thing anyone said.”
A tired smile tugs at her lips. “Kinda admired it, honestly. But that kind of attitude doesn’t last long ‘round here.”
Ghost’s jaw tightens.
“Dave didn’t appreciate the change in her behavior. Said she needed to be ‘fixed’...” The word sits heavily in her mouth. “So, he sent her off to the Shadows. Made a point of sayin’ he didn’t want her used for breedin’, just wanted her ‘attitude adjusted’.”
Mo’s fingers curl around the neck of the bottle.
“And boy,” she murmurs, “did they do just that…”
She sniffles slightly, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. When she speaks again, it's clear she’s fighting off the urge to cry. “She never told me what they did,” she says. “Just came back… different.”
Ghost doesn’t move.
Mo shifts again, curling her leg beneath her. “She found a way out,” she continues. “Came back to Dave, beggin’ for forgiveness, and then kept her head down.” Her voice dips. “She was quiet, wouldn’t say a damn word unless she had to.”
Her thumb starts picking at the label on the bottle.
“She wouldn’t sleep unless she could see the door,” Mo says. “Wouldn’t eat until Dave did. Flinched if you moved too fast.” She shakes her head. “All sorts of weird shit she didn’t do before.”
The room seems to get smaller the more she talks.
“Took months,” she goes on. “Months before she started to seem like herself again. Was little things at first. Snappin’ at people, rollin’ her eyes…”
Mo’s lips twitch in a quick smile.
“It was all going good,” she says before giving a small shrug. “And then she went and bit Jackson.”
Ghost tenses slightly.
“Ripped out that fucker’s gland like it was nothin’.” She tilts the bottle, realizes it’s empty, and sets it aside her on the couch.
“After that… well. You know the rest. Jailed up, then shipped overseas.”
She finally meets his eyes.
“To you.”
They share a long, painful look before Mo blinks, looking away.
“So,” Mo says, finishing off her thought. “This ain’t new for her. She ain’t the type to easily give up… she’ll come back to you.”
Ghost’s gaze shifts back to the screen, staring at the picture of his mate.
I’ll make sure of it, he thinks.
Three Months Later
The desert heat clung to everything. Dust was right along there with it, on the trucks and men that were currently in the shade of an old awning.
Ghost’s mask was damp with sweat, eyes on the tablet in Alejandro’s hands. They scan the security footage Laswell just sent them. A grainy figure slipped through the edge of the screen. Their hood is up, face hidden, and they’ve got a slight limp.
“That’s her,” Ghost said immediately, voice tight.
Rudy glanced over Alejandro’s shoulder. “You sure? The footage isn’t—”
“It’s her,” Ghost snapped, sharper than he meant to. The muscle in his jaw ticked as he watched Boo vanish off-screen.
Alejandro didn’t argue. “Footage is four days old. She was seen in a cantina near a cargo line north of Hermosillo. There’s a Shadow facility about fifteen klicks from there. It’s abandoned now, but it could’ve been a transfer point.”
“Could’ve been,” Ghost muttered. “Or another dead end.”
Rudy gave him a look. “Three facilities down, hermano. That’s not nothing.”
One of those facilities still smelt like fire when they’d arrived, a mess of scorched steel and blood. Boo’s handiwork, they’d realized.
Six confirmed dead, four missing, three of which were recovered omegas. The security feeds had shown her looking bruised, thinner, but alive. She was there for all of three weeks before the place was essentially ash.
“Laswell says she’s got chatter out of Chihuaha,” Alejandro continued, flipping to a map. “Someone fitting her description took a supply truck and tossed the plates. Headed east before they lost her. Sounds like she’s heading towards Las Almas. Our people over there know to look for her. We should find her soon.”
Ghost rubbed the back of his neck, eyes tracking the route. “She’s running. Doesn’t trust anyone.”
Rudy sighed. “After three months of running, can’t say I blame her.”
Alejandro looked at him carefully. “We’ll find her, hermano. You’ve been burning through yourself trying.”
Ghost said nothing, eyes on the horizon. He stared into the endless, empty stretch of sand and sky, willing her to just appear in front of him.
They’d raided three compounds. Dragged corpses out of two, the third had been the one she’d burned down herself. Laswell had confirmed through blood traces and recovered files that Boo had started to go willingly to these new Shadow Company shipments.
She was freeing omegas, tearing through every guard she could, hoping it would bring her closer to freedom or bring down Shadow Company with her.
Her face flickered in his mind’s eye. Not the one he stared at every night on his phone, all smiles with the girls. The one from the security footage he’d been watching.
Bruised, beaten, but her eyes… there was a fire in them that hadn’t been there before. A fierce, defiant spark that both terrified and awed him.
He needed to get to her.
The three alphas drove until the sun bled into the horizon, the truck’s headlights cutting through the deepening twilight. Rudy drove, Alejandro navigated, and Ghost sat in the back, a coiled spring of pure tension.
They arrived at her last known location. A small, dusty cantina on the outskirts of some nameless town.
The owner was a woman with tired eyes. Polite, the owner described Boo. Polite, but quiet. She said the girl’s hands were rough, she paid with crumpled bills, and vanished before the sun had set, never saying where she was going.
Deciding to try and get ahead of her, they head back towards Las Almas. The city was alive with noise and light, a stark contrast to the silence of the desert. Rudy pulled his truck into the driveway of their pack’s house.
Marisol, their own little secret omega, called out from the kitchen as they came in through the garage.
“Any luck?” she asks, starting to put plates out for everyone.
“Not yet, Marisol,” Rudy told her, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “But we will.”
She nodded, but her gaze lingered on Ghost.
Gabriel, a teen alpha Rudy and Alejandro had taken in, came bounding into the kitchen when he heard them come in.
“Hey. Someone left a message for you on the secured line,” he says to Rudy before taking a seat at the table.
Rudy’s quick to dismiss himself as the others take their own seats. He’s gone for a few minutes before he returns, a grim look on his face.
“Was Laswell,” he says, leaning against the doorframe instead of fully coming back in. “She’s got something.”
Ghost is already on his feet.
Rudy exhales like he’s bracing himself. “Interpol flagged a site tied to omega trafficking. They have invite-only auctions and post their listing ahead of time to draw in high-value buyers.”
He hesitates for a second before continuing. “Laswell got eyes on the site through a backdoor.”
“And?” Alejandro asks, posture shifting.
Rudy looks Ghost in the eyes. “She thinks they found her.”
Silence fills the room as the words settle.
Ghost’s hands curl at his sides. “Where is she?”
“That’s the problem,” Rudy says, pushing off the doorframe now. “The site masks everything. The location, the sellers… It’s all routed through layers of proxies and things that Interpol can’t peel back.”
He shakes his head with a sigh. “All we have right now is the listing and the auction date.”
“Which is?” Ghost’s voice is practically a growl.
“In two days.”
Alejandro swears under his breath. “Two days to find a ghost server hosting a black market?”
“I know,” Rudy agrees. “But Laswell’s working on it. She thinks she can find a weak point, but nothing concrete yet.”
Ghost’s whole body is a tightly wound spring. Every muscle screams to act, to move, to do something, but there’s nothing to do, and nowhere to go.
Two days.
The words echoed in the back of his skull.
“What does the listing say?” The question shoots out of him.
Rudy winces. “Not much. There’s no name or anything from what Laswell was saying, just a photo and her lot number. She’s sending over what she can, but Interpol is having difficulties getting anything from the website, so it’s all just photos of screens.”
As if one cue, Rudy’s phone lights up.
He glances down, expression turning grim before turning the screen to Ghost.
The photo is grainy, but it’s unmistakably Boo.
She’s sitting in a chair with her arms bound in front of her. Her lip is split, and bruises cover her arms.
It’s her eyes that hit Ghost the hardest.
She’s glaring into the camera, feral energy radiating from her, even through the screen. Heavy circles line her eyes, showing just how exhausted she is, but the burn in her eyes shows she hasn’t stopped fighting yet.
Beneath the image, blurry text reads: Lot 34. Previously bonded. Feral.
The mark on his neck burns as he reads it.
Two days.
They have two days to find her, or lose her for good.
Six Months Later
The briefing room smelled of stale coffee and sweat, a combination Gary Sanderson had come to associate with off-book operations.
The woman who sat across from him was a familiar face, one who had given him missions many times before.
“We’ve got an opportunity, Sanderson,” Laswell said, sliding a folder his way. “Interpol found a connection between this target and several of the missing omegas we’ve been tracking.”
Gary inclines his head once in acknowledgment, already reaching for the file.
“You’ll be going in as private security,” she continues. “Last-minute hire. Extra coverage for a party that the target is hosting. We need eyes on the inside, more intelligence than action.”
He flips the folder open, eyes moving quickly over the contents.
“Your alias is George Smith,” Laswell says. “Former Royal Marine. Discharged after a training accident. You signed with Shadow Company shortly before they folded.”
There’s a beat of silence before he lifts his head up, signaling he’s still listening.
“You’ll have plausible deniability since your silence will be chalked up to the injury. Most PMCs have a guy like you on payroll.”
Gary gives a faint nod, committing the details to memory as he scans the page.
“You won’t have anyone in your ear for this one,” Laswell adds. “But we’ll meet after to go after anything you might have found.”
He nods.
“Primary objective is information,” she continues. “Anything we can use to build a case, or justify going in harder. We’re looking for routes in, security layout, guest lists, staff rotations, codes if there are any, that kind of thing.”
He gave the woman a small smile.
This would be easy enough.
He kept his head down during the intake, a phantom among the scattered remains of Shadow Company.
They’re a rough-looking group. The kind of men who don’t ask questions as long as they’re paid well enough not to.
The lead contractor gives him a once-over, lingering a second too long on his throat. “Smith, right? Just got your file. Says you took shrapnel to the neck.” He offers a slight grimace. “Nasty business. You gonna be good for this?”
Gary’s gloved hand rises to give him a thumbs up.
The man huffs a short, humorless laugh. “Well, at least we know you won’t run your mouth.”
The men are bused out not long after.
It’s a modern-looking mansion that overlooks the Baltic Sea. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of salt and jasmine, and the marble floors gleam under the men’s boots.
Somewhere deeper in the manor, a string quartet plays as the men are dispersed. Gary ends up at the base of a grand staircase, a silent sentinel in black tactical gear.
He was meant to remain still, b more seen than actually noticed. He was essentially a piece of furniture, and that suited him just fine.
From where he was, he was able to easily observe partygoers as they drifted by in a flurry of silk and laughter. Their faces always lit with that kind of careless ease that only came with obscene wealth.
The camera hidden in his vest captured each one as time passed. Hours into the party, the host finally made his appearance.
Conor Ormond.
The owner of the mansion and the financial advisor to many of the guests in the room. At least, that’s ultimately what his cover was.
He clapped his hands together, instantly stopping the festivities.
“My friends,” he calls out, smiling wide. “Dear friends. I have something extra special for you all tonight.”
A ripple of interest moves through the crowd.
“You’ve all been… very carefully selected. And I think it’s time you all get an up close glimpse at my most prized collection.” His grin sharpens. “If you’d all follow me.”
The lead contractor catches Gary’s eyes as the crowd begins to move. A quick nod and a flick of his hand signaling Gary to stay close.
Gary wordlessly takes his new place at the back of the crowd.
They’re led to a lower section of the mansion, the air shifting the further they descend. The jasmine and salt scent gives way to a faint, antiseptic scent overlaid with something sweeter and more acrid.
The corridor stretches out long and narrow, the sound of the partygoers' feet echoing with every step. At the end is a set of double doors that reminds Gary of Willy Wonka’s factory.
Ormond pauses, hand resting against one of the giant doors.
“Ladies and gentlemen…” he says, almost reverent. “After much preparation, I am pleased to bring you a slice… of Paradise.”
With a smile and a dramatic flair, he swings the door open.
Past the doors lies another ballroom that matches the one above them. Omegas are scattered throughout the space, arranged more than gathered amongst various pieces of furniture that have been set up.
Some come bounding up to the guests, greeting them with smiles and flounces, pulling them towards furniture. Others sit perched on their furniture, a chain connecting the collar around their neck to the piece they’re on.
“Lovely, aren’t they?” Ormond says lightly, stepping into the room as if presenting fine art. “My pets.”
He gestures broadly. “Collected from all across the globe. Each one carefully chosen for their own unique… abilities.”
The partygoers murmur their appreciation, eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and lust.
Gary’s stomach knots as he does his best to steel his expression.
His hands, clasped neatly behind his back, tighten slightly before he forces them still. He takes a moment to look around, as if checking the room for security purposes instead of trying to catch everything on camera.
“Now,” Ormond says, voice lifting with pride, “it’s been quite the adventure trying to get so many of these lovely things from my island to this mansion. But, I found one of the best ways to ensure my pets remain… well-behaved.”
He steps aside to reveal a large alpha standing at attention near the far wall. He’s massive. A broad-shouldered man who looks like he was built for war, not display. His head is slightly bowed as the crowd approaches.
A thick, metallic collar sits locked tightly around his throat.
“As you can see,” Ormond continues, almost conversational, “he’s a prime alpha.”
A ripple of interest moves through the crowd.
“Rare, I know,” Ormond goes on. “Exceptionally so. He’s stronger, faster, and far more lethal than your average alpha. Put him in a room, and lesser alphas will feel it, even if they don’t necessarily know it.”
His smile widens slightly. “Which, as I’m sure many of you know, makes them quite dangerous when left unchecked. But fear not,” Ormond continues, flourishing a small, silver remote. “A little shock is all it takes to remind this beast who’s master here.”
Gary watches as Ormond presses a button on the remote. The alpha’s body locks, muscles seizing as a low, guttural growl tears from his chest.
The alpha forces himself to take a step, then another, before he’s at Ormond’s side. He lowers himself so he’s kneeling next to his captor.
A few guests laugh, some clap, crude remarks fly from one partygoer to another.
Gary feels something dark twist in his chest.
“Remarkable, isn’t he?” Ormond says, resting a casual hand against the alpha’s shoulder like he’s nothing more than a trained animal. “Power easily redirected.”
He tilts his head slightly. “Conditioning, of course, is key with any pet. And with this one, pain is a very effective teacher.”
His gaze sweeps the room. “Beyond the strength,” he gestures lazily, “he serves a more practical function as well. For one, my pets are far calmer with him present.”
There are some small murmurs as he talks.
“They’re easier to manage, and not just in terms of behavior. We’ve noticed that there’s been far less illness since incorporating him into Paradise.”
His eyes gleam as his voice lifts in excitement. “We’re almost done with research, and then I’ll be posting my findings on the forums.”
A few guest murmur their excitement as Gary’s jaw tightens at the term ‘research’. Ormond begins to move the group once more, leading the group through the ballroom, showing off his “collection” further, like a twisted curator.
“Now,” Ormond smiles. “You’ll have plenty of time to play with these pets here. But first, I must show you some of my more… exotic pieces.”
The partgoers follow him deeper into the mansion, their anticipation evident in the way they jostled each other for a better look.
Gary hung back, a silent, brooding presence in the back. Movement draws his attention as one of the omegas approaches him.
She had a small smile on her face, hips swaying as she walked. She’s beautiful, dark hair tumbling around her shoulders in light waves and eyes that seemed to hold a hint of mischief.
“Hello there,” she says, her voice a low purr. “You’re new, aren’t you?”
She’s close enough that he can smell her scent pouring from her. Oranges and something else he can’t quite place, but it’s sweet and intoxicating.
She reaches out a hand, her fingers brushing against his arm. “You’re so strong,” she comments with wide eyes.
Gary keeps his composure, his expression a mask of indifference, even as a storm rages inside of him. Instincts screaming at him to grab her and bring her to safety.
“Roxy!” Ormond’s voice cuts through the crowd. He’s still at the front of the group, but he’s turned back to look at the omega.
“You know better,” he says plainly. “Don’t bother the help.”
A flash of annoyance crosses Roxy’s face before it’s replaced with an excessively sweet smile. “Yes, sir,” she says, her tone dripping with the same sweetness her smile is made from.
The group moves on, leaving Gary to continue his post at the back of the group, a new block of lead in his stomach.
They pass through another set of doors, and the hallway here is different. Colder in both temperature and presence.
The walls are lined with reinforced doors, each one paired with a large observation window. They’re essentially cages, all of them containing sparse rooms and chained omegas.
Some pace, others lie in bed or on the floor. All of them are very clearly some stage of feral, eyes all flickering with the same, burning energy.
“Now,” Ormond says, his voice lowering slightly, “this is where I keep my more… volatile assets.”
A few guests lean in, intrigued.
“They’re not as sociable as the others,” he continues, almost fondly, “but they have their own unique charms.”
He slows at one of the doors before stopping. His smile shifts to something almost sentimental.
“This one,” he says, “is my pride and joy.”
Gary’s attention sharpens.
“The first of my feral collection. Acquired in Mexico a few months back.” A quiet note of satisfaction threads through his voice. “A true feral omega.”
He glances back at the group.
“She was… difficult at first. Violent, extremely unmanageable.” He lets out a small chuckle. “But you know me. I do enjoy a challenge.”
Small murmurs of agreement flitter through the group.
“With the right incentives, I’ve found she’s actually quite trainable.” He turns to the group. “Would you all like to meet her?”
A ripple of excitement moves through the guests. Ormond turns, punching in a code on the keypad. Gary clocks it instantly, committing the sequence to memory without breaking his bored facade.
The door unlocks with a heavy click, and Ormond steps inside. For a moment, the group is left to stare through the glass. Gary is too far back to see inside of the cage, but it’s not long before Ormond reemerges.
A gold leash is wrapped neatly around his hand, and on the other end is an omega in a flowy, short dress. It’s meant to make her look delicate and pretty, but it does little to hide the scars that run up and down her arms, across her shoulders, and down her back.
Her eyes were wide and unfocused, a clear sign that she’d been heavily drugged.
“Nuh-uh,” Ormond says lightly to someone in the room that Gary can’t see. “I’m taking her for a little walk. She’ll be right back.”
The door shuts behind him with a quiet, final click.
He turns back to the group, smile firmly back in place.
“Meet Mira,” he says. “The crown jewel of my feral project.” He gestures vaguely to her arms. “As you can see, she’s quite the fighter.”
Mira sways where she stands, her balance slightly faltering. The leash tugs slightly as she leans too far.
Ormond clicks his tongue. “Come now, pet,” he murmurs. “Don’t embarrass me.”
He tugs sharply, making her stumble forward.
The guests react immediately, cooing and aahing at her. Hands reach out without hesitation, brushing her arms with a sense of curiosity.
Ormond watches it all as if he were a painter showing off his greatest masterpiece.
“She’s still learning,” he continues, “but her progress has been truly remarkable. The cartel I bought her from lost complete control of her. Apparently, she’d built up an impressive little body count.”
He shrugs slightly. “Made it easy to get a good deal for her.”
A few low laughs ripple through the group.
Mira steadies herself on one of the guests at the front of the group. “Oh my,” they say, amused. “What a fascinating little thing. Are her heats available for purchase?”
It takes every ounce of Gary’s sheer will not to react.
“Not yet,” Ormond says, almost thoughtful. “I’m still refining a few… variables before we get there.”
A woman steps forward. She’s blonde, poised, with a heavy set of diamonds that sit across her throat. She gestures towards the leash. “May I, Conor?”
“Of course, of course,” Ormond says, passing it over. “Just be gentle. She’s still learning.”
The woman takes it with a happy little chirp. She guides Mira through the room, slow and deliberate, turning her this way and that as if presenting a prized show dog.
“She’s so well-behaved,” she purrs, a gloved hand trailing down Mira’s back. “What do you use to keep her so docile?”
Gary’s jaw tightens.
“A little concoction of my own design,” Ormond brags. “It dulls the senses just enough to make them pliable, but not so much that they lose their… fire.”
A few guests lean in, listening with clear intrigue.
“She requires a rather heavy dose to maintain this level of compliance,” he continues, almost conversational. “But I’m refining it. Ideally, something more efficient for my normal pets.”
The group resorts with eager murmurs.
“She's been especially good lately,” Ormond adds, watching as she’s carted around through the guests. Some take the opportunity to leave lingering touches on what they can.
“I even allowed her a roommate. Some little omega I wasn’t particularly fond of.” He smiles faintly. “It seems to have a stabilizing effect.”
He clasps his hands behind his back.
“Actually, I’ve been doing quite the little study on her results. That’s another thing I plan to post to the forum once I’m done, so stay tuned for more details on how to replicate this.”
The leash starts getting passed from guest to guest. Each one handles her a little differently. Some are careful, almost a bit fearful of her. Others not so much.
Touches grow bolder as she gets deeper into the group. They laugh, trade comments, and offer praise to Ormond while giving the omega soft, patronizing coos.
Mira doesn’t respond to any of it, merely just floating along. She drifts where she’s pulled, bare feet shuffling across the marble floors. Her balance seems to waver with each tug, her body swaying just a fraction, too slow to correct itself.
One of the guests, a large, burly man with a thick beard, takes the leash next.
He gives it a short, testing pull. “Sit,” he barks down at her.
Mira drops without hesitation.
The man laughs, clearly pleased at her easy obedience.
“Think she’d at least suck me off?” he asks Ormond.
Ormond hums in consideration. “Might not be the best idea. We’re still working on her manners.”
He steps up behind her, forcing her head up and pressing his fingers into her jaw. Her lips part under the pressure, showing off sharp fangs that openly hang in her mouth.
“The downside of her feral nature,” Ormond says, a hint of disappointment in his tone, “is that these sharp things don’t go away.”
He tilts her head back and forth. A few guests step in front of Gary, cutting off his view as they get a closer look. “She has a tendency to bite… Enthusiastically.”
A few amused chuckles ripple through the group.
“Wouldn’t want you losing anything important,” he adds with a small laugh.
The pair chuckles before the burly man passes off the leash to another guest. Now that she’s a lot closer, he’s able to get a better view of her as her dress rides up on her hip.
In that brief moment, Gary sees it, inked along her hip.
A familiar skull mask amongst flowers.
His mind spiraled as he tried to think of where else that mask might be known besides his old partner. This wasn’t just any skull tattoo. It was stylized and very clearly… his.
It was like a punch to the gut. The air left his lungs as he did his best to swallow back any sort of reaction.
Another guest gets too bold, lifting up the bottom of the dress to peek at her underwear as Ormond starts rattling off his methods on getting omegas comfortable with thongs.
Sure enough, it wasn’t just some skull. It was shaded to have the stripes he knew Ghost hand-painted on his mask himself.
This… this was Ghost’s omega.
His eyes go to her scent glands, finding them empty, but he can see slivers of silvery marks peeking over her collar.
Ghost’s mate.
He had no way of knowing if Ghost knew about this or not, but a primal, protective rage began to grow in Gary’s gut.
“I will say,” Ormond’s voice cuts through his spiraling, “the prime alpha has been quite useful in managing her temperament as well.”
Gary forces his attention back on Ormond.
“In the early stages,” Ormond continues, “his… discipline made acclimation significantly easier. We were able to get injections and medical procedures done far quicker with him present than without.”
Gary feels something in his gut twist hard enough to make him sick. He shifts his stance slightly, making it appear as though he’s making more room for the omega and the guests, but really he’s just trying to make sure this is all on camera.
He can’t afford to miss anything… especially not this.
Eventually, Ormond steps forward, reclaiming the leash, leading her back to her cage. “You’ve had such a big night,” he coos at her. “You’ve done so well, I’ll have to reward you later.”
He can hear her get clipped in before Ormond comes back out, giving her a small “Nighty night,” before shutting and locking the door.
The tour comes to a close soon after. Guests are ushered back into ‘a slice of Paradise’, their excitement barely contained now that they’ve had a taste of what’s being offered.
“Playtime,” someone mutters, amused.
Gary remains at the rear until the last of them makes their way into the ballroom. The lead contractor catches his eye, jerking his chin toward the hallway.
“We need someone posted here,” he says. “Make sure none of them wander off where they shouldn’t. Think you can manage?”
Gary gives him a firm, professional nod.
“Good,” the contractor says, letting out a humorless laugh. “Figured you’d be a good pick. Can’t really talk about anything you’ve seen.”
He jerks his chin towards the cages.
“Don’t let anyone through without Ormond’s say-so. Some of the guests were actin’ mighty friendly with that one omega, and I don’t want any issues.”
Gary nods again.
With that, the contractor leaves him. The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.
Gary stands guard outside the hallway of glass cells. The sounds of the partygoers and their activities drift their way over to him as he keeps watch.
He does his best to slow his breathing, forcing himself to get a grip on himself and not freak out over what he’s discovered.
Ghost’s mate. He had to get her out.
But not now. Anything he does is going to be sloppy, rushed. He has no way to get her out without it going bad.
He reminds himself that his job here is to just gather intel, not to act. But this… this was something he doesn’t think anyone ever accounted for.
Time drags on, more hours passing as Gary formulates the tiniest of plans in his head.
The lead contractor passes through more than once, doing lazy sweeps, allowing him the smallest of breaks. Each time, Gary meets him with the same, steady nod, being the perfect hired thug. Reliable, silent, and apparently without a thought in his head.
That was, until he snuck over to the glass cage that contained the feral omega. She and her roommate spooked as he punched in the code, unlocking the door. He placed a finger over his mouth, thankful when the roommate seemed to understand what was going on.
She held his gaze, giving him a sharp nod. He opened the door, ever so slightly, so they could hear when he left.
He goes back to his post, stoic as ever.
He had no idea how this would pan out, how she might get out of this, but he had to give her the chance.
The contractor approaches him one last time that evening. “One more sweep,” he mutters. “Then we’re done for the night. Enjoy the show, new guy?” he huffs. “Not a bad way to make a buck if you ask me.”
Gary just nods, like he’s done every time before. Once he’s put of sight, Gary counts in his head before checking the room again.
It’s empty.
For a split second, something like relief floods his system. He closes the door behind him and steps back into position. By the time the contractor returns, Gary’s right where he needs to be, like nothing ever happened.
The next morning, Gary drinks his coffee in silence as he sits in the back of a coffee shop a few blocks from his hotel.
The day feels like any other. Traffic hums outside, people pass by, wrapped up in their own lives. No one gives him a second glance, just like normal.
What’s not normal is the headline he reads on his phone.
Billionaire Philanthropist Financeer Conor Ormond Killed in Suspected Gas Explosion at Coastal Estate Exposing Trafficking Operation
He reads it once. Then again, slower, really taking it in.
According to the article, the explosion hit sometime in the early hours of the morning, way after he left. A structural fire followed. By the time emergency services arrived, most of the estate had been engulfed in flames.
Authorities are still investigating the cause, but foul play is heavily suspected.
The article goes on to explain that Ormond was one of the victims, as well as several high-profile guests. Names and faces he had just seen a few hours ago.
Further down, it mentions authorities have also opened up a trafficking case after identifying multiple of the survivors as missing omegas.
Gary goes still, the coffee in his cup suddenly tasting like ash. A mix of shock, pride, and a grim sort of satisfaction wars within him.
She’d done it. Somehow, someway, that little omega had not only gotten herself out, but taken down Ormond’s whole operation with her.
His phone buzzes as a message pops up on his phone.
Footage received. Interpol is already moving on what’s left of the site.
A second message follows almost immediately.
Explosion complicated things, but it gave us legal entry. We’ll take it.
Gary reads it, expression unchanged as the final message comes through.
Good work, Sanderson.
He locks the phone and sets it back down.
He takes another sip of his coffee.
It tastes a lot sweeter now.
PREVIOUS | NEXT
A/N: Honestly, this was a very hard chapter to write due to some personal experiences, but I felt like it was important at the same time. Originally, I kind of glazed over Boo's experience in Ormond's estate, thinking it may be too much, especially with certain current events. I was finding that it just didn't really relay just how awful of an experience she goes through, and to be honest, I still feel like not a lot of detail is given about how much she actually goes through all these months separated from her pack. There's more coming next chapter. I'm excited to see your thoughts 💜
As always, I was editing chapter 24 and ended up throwing out 7k words, only to decide to just completely redo it. So, I'm now basically redoing all of chapter 24 and 25. We're still on track for posting them once a week, though! Chapter 23 is done and ready for you guys and I'm not going to touch it. I've edited it like 4 times now so we're all good to go hahah!
As we get closer to the end, I'm realizing what a huge part of my life this story has been. I know I say this every chapter, but I'm genuinely so thankful for all the support on this fic. I plan to write more COD fics after this, but I promised my husband that I would finish the MHA fic I have going on right now before I touch anything else. (I haven't updated since Sept and I feel awful about it haha).
The safe house door creaked open as Soap shouldered his way inside, still holding the silent apex hybrid against his chest like a rescued puppy instead of a potential bioengineered nightmare. "Lads. I'm back."
Every head turned.
Gaz looked up first, froze mid sip of water, and coughed so hard he almost choked.
Price's chair made a 'thunk' when he stood up quickly.
Ghost was the fastest to react his hand already resting on the handle of his knife. "What." he said flatly, "Is that."
Y/n's ears twitched. Their tail swished once, slow.
Soap beamed. "Found 'em."
"Found??" Gaz stood up, backing behind the table like it was a shield. "Soap, that's not a cat. That's not a fox. That's not anything with a leash at PetSmart. What is it?"
Soap shrugs.
Price inhaled slowly, setting his maps aside with forced calm. "Sergeant."
Soap: "Aye?"
"Why." Price asked, in full Captain Mode, "Did you bring an unidentified hybrid, an apex hybrid, into my safe house?"
Soap pointed at Y/n. "They didn't bite."
"That is not-" Price pressed a palm to his forehead. "Soap, for the love of- Soap. We do not adopt everything that doesn't kill us."
Soap frowned. "Why not? Seems like a good system."
The hybrid finally lifted their head, staring directly at Price with an unblinking predator focus.
Price stared back. "…Right then." he muttered. "This is above my pay grade."
Gaz was hugging the wall at this point. "It's looking at me. Why is it looking at me? Make it stop."
"It's not an it." Soap said and took a pause. "Their name is.... Y/N!"
Ghost: "Soap don't name it."
Price’s eye twitched.
Gaz whispered. "I'm not sleeping tonight."
Ghost leaned back in his chair. "I swear to God, MacTavish. If it bites anyone-"
"It won't," Soap said confidently.
The hybrid glanced at Ghost. Ghost stared back. The hybrid slowly, deliberately, showed a single pointed canine.
Soap nodded proudly. "See? They like you."
Ghost: silently swearing behind his mask.
Price exhaled. "Johnny… feed it. Clean it. Keep it out of my paperwork. And if HQ asks-"
Soap was making his way back through the forest after clearing out an abandoned laboratory an old research files stuffed in his pack. Boots crunching over dead leaves, radio crackling softly in his ear. He was already thinking about dinner back at base and maybe bragging to Gaz about how he did everything quietly for once.
Then the woods went silent. Not peaceful quiet. Not wind stopped blowing quiet. No... predator quiet.
Then a blur launched out of the treeline. "OH bloody hell!"
The weight slammed into his chest and knocked him backward into the dirt. He instantly grabbed for his knife heart in his throat, just to realize the thing pinning him down wasn't clawing him, or biting him, or ripping out his throat.
It was just… staring at him. Wide eyes. Ears pinned sharp. Breath hot. Muscles coiled. Small. Young. But every instinct in Soap's body recognized apex predator. Whatever this hybrid was, it wasn't weak.
"…the fuck are you?" Soap whispered, eyes wide.
The hybrid didn't answer. Only blinked at him, head tilting like they were studying him… deciding whether he was edible.
Soap swallowed hard.
They just sat there in the dirt, watching him. Not scared. Not angry. Just… curious. Their tail flicked once. Ears perked forward. Not a sound.
"Alright then-" He shoved them off instinctively, rolling to his feet in a single motion, arms up, ready to fight. But the hybrid didn't attack. Didn't sink or bite into Soap More silence. Their nose twitched. A soft huff came from the hybrid.
Soap lowered his knife. He bent down, scooped the hybrid up like it was the most normal thing in the world, and slung them over his shoulder. They didn't fight, didn't protest, just relaxed against him with a soft, low growl that sounded more like a purr. "Yep. Mine now."
Price took his coffee every morning: a mug of black coffee, two sugars, and five minutes of silence before the day began- As long as he didn't have morning wood and your moans filling the air in the room.
He would have coffee.
That is until you swapped his coffee tin for decaf. You warned him about cutting back on caffeine, but he wouldn't listen. So, when he took that first sip, his brow furrowed and his whole face contorted liked he had just tasted engine oil.
"What the bloody hell is this?" He muttered, wiping his bottom lip.
"The doctor said less caffeine." You replied, stirring your own proper coffee right beside him.
"They said cut down-" He grumbled. "Not quit."
"So, you can listen."
He stared at your cup. "You goanna drink that?"
"Yes. Am I goanna share? No."
He sighed, picked up his mug again and muttered under his breath. "Married to a terrorist."
_________
Part 1. | Part 2. | Part 3. | Part 4. | | Part 5. | Next Part | His sandwich | His seat | His lunch | His coffee | Your Gym Confession | What kind of Protection? | "Luck or skill? Either way, lucky wife." | "Last Blow-" | "Embarrassing Mom" |
You and Price had spent the whole evening teasing each other, soft touches, lingering looks, the kind of flirting that made the air feel warm and heavy. By the time you both reached the bottom of the stairs, you tugged him closer by his shirt. "C'mon, John." you murmured. "Let's go upstairs."
He smirked, hand already on your hip as he leaned in. "Lead the way, love."
You took a step, then paused and glanced over your shoulder with a playful smile. "Did you bring protection?" You expected him to grin, maybe make a cheeky remark.
Instead, Price froze. Full stop. One foot on the first stair, one foot on the floor, staring up into the darkness like it held the secrets of the universe. Brows furrowed. Shoulders tense. "…Why?" he asked slowly. "What's up there?"
You stare at him. "John. I meant-"
He cuts you off, dead serious. "Is someone upstairs?"
You: "No.."
"A trap?" He lowers his voice, looking around. "Did you hear something?"
You: "JOHN."
He finally looks at you, confused and mildly offended. "…What?"
You sighed, pressing a hand to your forehead. "John. I meant protection… like condoms."
“…Oh. No, love. I haven’t gotten you pregnant yet." He continues, proud as hell. "I think my pull out game’s good enough."
You stare at him, horrified. He says it with the sincerity of a man who thinks he’s just given a PowerPoint presentation on safety protocols.
You: "John."
Price: "What?"
You: "That's not how-"
He waves his hand dismissively. "Been doin' fine so far."
You just stare at him because no you have NOT gotten preganent, yet. You've nearly had pregnancy scares three times. One time he prayed. One time you prayed. One time Ghost smacked him in the back of the head and told him to buy condoms like an adult.
You pinch the bridge of your nose. "John. We are going upstairs to have sex. Please tell me you didn't forget..."
He pulls you against him, kisses your cheek, and murmurs. "If anything happens… I’ll marry you again."
You: "…That's not comforting."
He shrugs, smirking much too hard. "Didn't say it was supposed to be." But before you can walk upstairs, he pauses again, squinting into the darkness. "…You sure there's nothing up there?"
You: "JOHN."
_________________________________________
Part 1. | Part 2. | Part 3. | Part 4. | | Part 5. | Next Part | His seat | His lunch | His coffee | His sandwich | Your Gym Confession | "Luck or skill? Either way, lucky wife." | | "Last Blow-" | "Embarrassing Mom" |
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 |
_____________________________________________
The team has to go on a mission again and they don't want to bring Y/n along. And Y/n didn't take the news well, but orders were orders.
Y/n said, "No." with a growl.
Ghost: "It's not a debate."
Y/n's ears flattened into airplane mod. "I can handle it."
Price: "We know you can, but that's not the point."
Gaz tries to lighten it, adding on. "You'll hate the weather anyways. The sand, the heat, and terrible snacks."
Y/n looked at them with betrayal again, especially at Price.
The next morning Y/n stood at the hanger, arms crossed, watching the helicopter leave.
They left some guy to babysit, some base mechanic. All he was told was to "Keep an eye on them. They're harmless." What he was not told that they growled, lunge, stared like a predator.
"Uh... hi." Cooper greeted walking up to Y/n.
Y/n: "...."
"Cool..." He gave them space as he worked on vehicles in the hanger while Y/n sat nearby like a gargoyle.
By day two, Y/n followed him around silently while he worked on a truck. Not helping, just watching- which felt very judgmental and Cooper felt very uneasy like being observed by a cryptid. "You don't talk much, huh?"
Y/n: "....."
Cooper: "...Right."
He pulled his phone out to check something when Y/n pulled closer to see. Cooper glanced at Y/n and back at his phone. "...You want to see something stupid?" He opened a video and Y/n watches with interest. "Brian rot. Absolute garbage. I don't even know why I watch it." Cooper laughs.
Y/n seemed very interested and Cooper notices. "Wanna?" He holds out his phone.
And that's how it started...
By day three, Y/n was waiting when he arrived. Already sitting on a crate, watching him like he owed them money. Y/n held out their hand expectantly, just: 🫴
Cooper: "You're gonna rot your brain."
Hand extended, grabby motion. 🫴
"Absolutely not." He said immediately.
Y/n: 🫴
"...At least say good morning." He sighed and handed his phone over.
Y/n ignored him and went onto the app. Not even pretending to care about him now and Cooper stands there, feeling deeply used.
By day six, Cooper made a mistake by showing them livestreams. He didn't really mean to. He'd already surrendered to the short form videos. The scrolling, the endless loops of fifteen seconds nonsense. Y/n had adapted disturbingly fast. What Y/n did not understand was moderation.
By day ten, Y/n had developed random streamer slang, sudden laughter at nothing, the inability to focus longer than 15 seconds, and a concerning attachment to the phone. And every day they waited for Cooper like a debt collector.
🫴Every morning.
The next day, the team was back. Price stepped out first, scanning automatically. Ghost followed, Soap stretched his shoulders with a grunt, Gaz rolled his neck and muttered something about wanting a shower.
They expected a welcome back, someone running towards them with open arms. Instead they found Y/n in the hanger sitting crossed legged on an a crate under the work lights. Phone inches from their face, thumb flicking, scroll, scroll, scroll, scroll. A quiet, high, repetitive hum vibrated in their throat. Not distressed, just stimming. Their ears flicked occasionally, but their eyes never lifted.
Price waited for them to look up, but they didn't. "Y/n." Price called.
"Hold on." Y/n muttered to absolutely no one. "NPC just spawned."
Silence.
Ghost tilted his head slightly. "What's an NPC."
Gaz pinched the bridge of his nose. "Non-player character. Background idiot. Sir-"
Price took two more steps forward. "Y/n."
Scroll.
From the side of the hangar, Cooper froze like a man watching his own execution. He very quietly tried to step behind a truck.
Price's gaze cut to him instantly. "Mechanic."
Cooper straightened. "Sir."
"What." Price asked carefully. "Did you do?"
Cooper swallowed. "In my defense, sir, it started with short videos."
Soap made a strangled noise.
Price turned back to Y/n. "Phone."
No response.
"Y/n." Price said firmer.
Scroll. Another small hum. Rocking slightly now. Completely absorbed.
Price stepped forward and simply plucked the phone out of their hands.
The reaction was immediate. The humming stopped. Y/n's head snapped up like a predator scenting blood. "Give it back."
Price held it just out of reach. "No."
A low growl started in their chest with possessiveness.
Y/n rose slowly to their feet. "Give it back."
"You didn't greet us." Price said, voice level but edged with something colder. "Didn't look up. Didn't move."
Y/n's ears flattened slightly. "You interrupted."
Gaz looked like he might cry. "Oh it's bad."
Price's jaw tightened. "We were gone ten days."
Y/n's nostrils flared. "Chat was peaking."
Soap turned his face into his sleeve to hide a laugh.
Price didn't. "Is that what this is?" Price asked quietly. "Chat?"
Y/n shifted their weight. Irritated. Restless. Eyes flicking toward the phone like it was oxygen. "Give it back."
Price: "No."
The growl deepened.
Ghost stepped forward half a pace.
Y/n's gaze flicked to him, recalculating threat levels.
Price's voice cut through before it escalated. "That thing." He said, lifting the phone slightly. "Has replaced us."
Y/n stiffened. "It hasn't."
Price: "You didn't even see us come in."
Silence.
Price's expression wasn't angry in the loud sense. It was worse. Disappointed and very hurt. "We worked for that trust before we left." He said. "I thought we got somewhere after the incident. You let me push you. We bonded."
Y/n's ears twitched. Just slightly.
Price: "And now I come back and you can’t spare five seconds to look up."
Soap looked down at his boots and Gaz stopped smirking.
Y/n's jaw clenched. "It's not like that."
Price: "Then what is it like?"
Silence stretched.
Y/n's hands flexed once. That restless, twitchy energy building without the scrolling to bleed it off. "Give it back." They said again, but it sounded weaker now.
Price shook his head. "You'll get it back. Eventually."
Y/n: "When."
Price: "When you remember how to exist without it."
Y/n's ears flattened fully this time. "That's not fair."
Price: "What's not fair is walking into my own base and feeling less important than a rectangle."
Silence.
Price: "No phone for the rest of the week."
Gaz whispered. "Oh, that's devastating."
Y/n stared at Price like he'd struck them. "A week?"
Price: "You've had ten days."
Y/n: "That's not the same!"
Price: "You growled at me."
Y/n faltered feeling very guilty.
Price stepped closer. "I will not compete with a device for your attention."
The hangar felt very quiet.
Y/n stood there, ears flat, chest tight. Their hands twitched without the phone in them fingers rubbing together, then flexing, then rubbing again. Y/n swallowed. "It's not-" They stopped. Started again. "It's not like you weren't important."
Price's voice stayed calm. Too calm. "That's how it felt."
The stimming came back softer this time. A small hum in their throat. Rocking slightly on their heels. The absence of the phone made it louder, more noticeable. It wasn't aggression now. It was withdrawal.
Gaz leaned toward Soap and whispered. "It's like watching someone quit caffeine."
Price exhaled slowly through his nose.
He looked back at Y/n. "Did you miss us?"
The question cut through everything.
Y/n froze and stopped humming. "…Yes." It came out small. Honest.
Price's shoulders shifted just slightly. "Then why didn't you look up?"
Y/n stayed very quiet.
When Price didn't receive an answer, he took Y/n to his office for punishment.
The door shut with a solid click.
Price: "Sit."
Y/n didn't argue. They dropped into the chair stiffly, hands twitching against their thighs.
Price opened a drawer. Pulled out a pencil. Then a blank legal pad. He placed both in front of them. "Write."
Y/n stared at him. "What?"
"You don't get the phone." Price folded his arms. "So you get this."
They looked down at the pencil like it was an insult. "I don't-"
He sat down across from them. "Stream it. Narrate it. Draw it. I don't care. But you don't get the phone back."
Y/n: "I don't know how to write."
Price: "Then how were you reading things on the phone?"
Y/n: "I wasn't. I was watching."
Price leaned back slowly. "You can't read."
Y/n shrugged like it didn't matter.
Something in Price's expression shifted. Less angry now and more… processing.
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Part 20 |
