Demonfurry

Your station acts as an added layer of security, encrypting the route the channels take in the event they are hacked. Sure, you work with other teams but the 141 are your main group.

One...small caveat of being in charge of their comms, is that you have to actually listen to their conversations in case they request a patch to someone.

Which leads to you hearing...way more than you'd like.

Gaz: sir. Stop poking it. Soap's waitin'

Ghost: think he had health issues. Look at his femur, odd texture.

Gaz: oh shit, really? Let me see—

Followed by far too graphic descriptions of the poor blokes leg. You had to skip lunch that day. You do most days they have missions, gross fuckers act like you can't hear all the shit they say.

Meaning, of course, that you hear too damn much about their sex lives or lack thereof due to missions. It's nothing new, and given you know what they look like, it doesn't paint a bad picture.

But this time? You're shocked by the subject of conversation.

Soap: ahm tellin' you, it's been too damn long. The poor lass is crying for attention!

Gaz: why not the guy from IT? He's eager enough.

Soap: no. Not really feeling that right now. Actually, you know who sounds nice?

There's that characteristic smirk in soaps voice you've long since learned to identify. You absently hear ghost prompt him to continue, wondering how the hell price tunes them out so well—

Soap: our waypoint.

You choke, splutter. Your own coughing making it impossible to hear gaz and ghosts reactions, but when you tune back in soap is viciously defending himself

Soap: no, no! Listen! Have you heard that voice?? Christ, just that and I could get a better wank than I've had all month! C'mon, ghost, I know you agree—

Ghost: you know they can hear you right now, johnny? Got anything to say?

Gaz: *chuckles* besides asking to get his dick wet? Maybe beg for a moan or something?

....silence

Soap: ....hey waypoint? You there?"

You shouldn't. Christ you shouldn't respond.

All comms are recorded, and waypoints should only talk when absolutely necessary but— but the 141 comms are wiped every 24 hours and...

You lean close to your mic, voice weaker than you'd like.

Your station acts as an added layer of security, encrypting the route the channels take in the event they are hacked. Sure, you work with other teams but the 141 are your main group.

One...small caveat of being in charge of their comms, is that you have to actually listen to their conversations in case they request a patch to someone.

Which leads to you hearing...way more than you'd like.

Gaz: sir. Stop poking it. Soap's waitin'

Ghost: think he had health issues. Look at his femur, odd texture.

Gaz: oh shit, really? Let me see—

Followed by far too graphic descriptions of the poor blokes leg. You had to skip lunch that day. You do most days they have missions, gross fuckers act like you can't hear all the shit they say.

Meaning, of course, that you hear too damn much about their sex lives or lack thereof due to missions. It's nothing new, and given you know what they look like, it doesn't paint a bad picture.

But this time? You're shocked by the subject of conversation.

Soap: ahm tellin' you, it's been too damn long. The poor lass is crying for attention!

Gaz: why not the guy from IT? He's eager enough.

Soap: no. Not really feeling that right now. Actually, you know who sounds nice?

There's that characteristic smirk in soaps voice you've long since learned to identify. You absently hear ghost prompt him to continue, wondering how the hell price tunes them out so well—

Soap: our waypoint.

You choke, splutter. Your own coughing making it impossible to hear gaz and ghosts reactions, but when you tune back in soap is viciously defending himself

Soap: no, no! Listen! Have you heard that voice?? Christ, just that and I could get a better wank than I've had all month! C'mon, ghost, I know you agree—

Ghost: you know they can hear you right now, johnny? Got anything to say?

Gaz: *chuckles* besides asking to get his dick wet? Maybe beg for a moan or something?

....silence

Soap: ....hey waypoint? You there?"

You shouldn't. Christ you shouldn't respond.

All comms are recorded, and waypoints should only talk when absolutely necessary but— but the 141 comms are wiped every 24 hours and...

You lean close to your mic, voice weaker than you'd like.

is going to work. hello

to you, haiku bot!

You have something wrong with you. No, not something we can do anything about. You're just Wrong. Not wrong enough that you can't work, but too wrong to be able to help you.

You don't need medication to mitigate your suffering. You're the only cause of your suffering. The fact that you can look me in the eyes long enough to tell me what's wrong means you're not autistic (a real problem with real consequences, unlike yours). You're not looking at me. This means you are avoidant. This means you just need to stop avoiding things. It's all in your head. But a psychiatrist can't help you.

You just told me a side effect of your new medication. However, I am unfamiliar with all but the most common of side effects, and it's not one of them. You must be lying to me about how you feel when you take it.

There's no point in trying to help someone who doesn't want to help themselves.

You keep asking for disability benefits because you've been unable to work for over a decade. It's too early to give you that. What if you stop trying to get better as soon as you're not in constant economic stress? A diagnosis would just confirm to you that you can't do it.

to help someone who doesn’t

want to help themselves.

You were so excited to learn you'd be with another dog hybrid, contrary to popular belief they aren't all that common in higher ranks.

For once, you get to have someone who understands you instincts and doesn't scoff at your social behaviors. You get someone to maybe-hopefully pack bond with and not have to explain what that is. You finally get someone high energy to run and play with—

And it turns out he's a giant, sleepy, boring dog.

Lieutenant riley does little more than give you a sniff when he first meets you, a sleepy rumble low in his chest before meandering off. Not what you expected, but it's still nice to bond with him.

Ghost, as it turns out, is a great packmate. He's willing to indulge your more hyper moods, and when he isn't?

"Fuckin' settle down, pup." Ghost grunts, grabbing you by the scruff and tossing you to the floor of the rec room. You barely get a moment to recover before 300+ pounds of dog hybrid lie atop you, pinning you down heavily.

Not matter how hard you bark and growl, ghost just rumbles in his half-sleep, tail slowly wagging.

Without fail, it always seems to make you sleepy too. All that high energy you can never deal with settling right down into a foggy peace, enjoying your packmate on top of you and his scent so close, your own tail wagging.