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k but imagine Rocky wanting to learn about how humans became the apex predators of their planet so he has Grace âhuntâ him in the biodome as an experiment and during it he thinks Grace isnât trying or taking it seriously which is bad bad bad because this is for research purposes
only for Rocky to get more and more tired as the experiment goes on just to realize that Grace isnât which makes him panic so he puts as much distance as he can between them and finds a (hopefully) safe spot to sleep and when he wakes up the human is crouching over him like âgot youuuâ and Rocky has never shrieked so damn loud before in his life
The second Captain John Price receives credible intelligence regarding his missing lieutenant, accompanied by photographic evidence of said lieutenantâs current condition, he pinches the bridge of his nose and holds it there for a long moment.
Then he releases a sigh so deep and profoundly exhausted that the paperwork on his desk flutters.
There are moments in a manâs life when he reflects upon the choices that brought him to his present circumstances. Price has had more of those moments than most, usually while being shot at, occasionally while filling out expense reports, and once while watching Soap attempt to determine whether a grenade could be used to open a particularly stubborn jar of pickles.
This, however, may be the first time he has seriously regretted not accepting that desk job his uncle offered him straight out of school.
Corporate office. Nine to five. Sensible shoes. Perhaps a retirement party where the greatest threat to his life wouldâve been Sandra from Accounts becoming emotional after two glasses of prosecco.
Instead, he is staring at a photograph of Lieutenant Simon Riley tied to a chair in what appears to be a dungeon.
Bare concrete walls, chains hanging from hooks, one exposed bulb casting ominous shadows. There is even what appears to be a table containing several neatly arranged implements of torture, although Price suspects at least two of them are novelty kitchen utensils.
Simon sits in the middle of it all wearing his skull mask, trousers, and an expression that cannot be seen but can nevertheless be felt radiating through the photograph.
Price studies the ropes binding his lieutenantâs wrists.
He blinks.
He studies them again.
The rope is looped around Simonâs arms perhaps twice, secured with what looks suspiciously like a shoelace knot, and hanging loose enough that a moderately determined toddler could escape it.
âAre we certain this is current?â Price asks.
The intelligence officer standing opposite his desk shifts his weight. âTimestamp puts it at fourteen hundred yesterday, sir.â
âAnd weâre certain itâs Riley?â
âYes, sir.â
Price looks back at the photograph.
Simonâs boots are planted comfortably apart. His shoulders are relaxed. There are no visible injuries. Someone has placed a folded blanket beneath him so the metal chair wonât be uncomfortable.
There is also, Price notices with mounting despair, a bottle of water positioned beside his right foot with the water level already half gone.
âRight,â Price says.
The investigation continues and it should be difficult to determine how one of the worldâs most highly trained special operations soldiers was abducted from his own home. Simon Riley is six foot something of professionally cultivated paranoia. He checks exits without thinking, sleeps lightly, and once identified a surveillance team because the same pigeon appeared outside three different cafes.
You, by comparison, possess all the operational subtlety of a marching band falling down a staircase.
Price discovers you have been following Simon for six weeks.
Not discreetly, no. Youâve followed him to the store, the gym, the shooting range, and several coffee shops. Youâve taken photographs from behind newspapers held upside down, worn a black trench coat during a heatwave, an once crouched behind a decorative hedge that did not make you as invisible as you probably led yourself to believe you were.
Security footage shows Simon looking directly into the camera on several occasions while you scurry behind him between hiding places.
Price sees all of this and lowers his face into his hands.
The next report arrives shortly before lunch.
âA syringe was recovered from Lieutenant Rileyâs residence,â an officer tells him.
Price straightens slightly. Finally. Something resembling an actual crime.
âForensics?â
âLorazepam, sir.â
âWhat dosage?â
The officer consults the report. âZero point five milligrams.â
Price stares at him.
The officer clears his throat. âAtivan.â
âI know what lorazepam is.â
âYes, sir.â
Price looks at the report again, perhaps hoping an additional zero will materialize through force of will.
It doesnât.
âZero point five.â
âYes, sir.â
âThat dose wouldnât knock out a pensioner after Sunday lunch.â
âNo, sir.â
âRiley weighs nearly two forty.â
âYes, sir.â
They stand in silence and Priceâs eye begins to twitch.
The final piece of evidence is recovered from a traffic camera positioned across from Simonâs flat where Pricd can see you dragging Simon beneath the arms towards the back door.
Dragging is perhaps generous. You are straining, red faced and panting, moving him approximately three inches at a time while Simon allows his boots to scrape uselessly across the floor. His head lolls against his shoulder with theatrical unconsciousness.
In the process, his boot catches the base of a standing lamp, which begins to fall.
Simon, still allegedly unconscious, reaches out one hand, catches it, carefully rights it, and places it back beside the doorway.
âUnbelievable,â Price mutters.
You turn around at the sound and he drops his arm and resumes being unconscious before you see him.
You stare suspiciously and Simon remains perfectly still.
After several seconds, you shrug and return to your kidnapping.
Price pauses the footage, sits back, and runs both hands slowly down his face, dragging his palms over his beard until he resembles a man trying to physically remove himself from existence.
Behind him, one of the task force operators shifts impatiently. âCaptain?â
Price says nothing.
âDo you want us to assemble a team?â
âNo.â
There is a pause.
âNo, sir?â
âNo.â
âBut Lieutenant Riley has been taken hostage.â
âHas he?â
The operator looks at the frozen image on the screen. Simonâs enormous, supposedly unconscious body is halfway inside a compact hatchback while you attempt to fold one of his legs through the door.
âHeâs tied to a chair, sir.â
âHe could break those ropes by sneezing.â He says while he picks up Simonâs personnel file.
He opens it, turns to the appropriate page, and begins filling out a leave request.
The operator watches him. âSir?â
Price writes Simon Riley beneath the section marked PERSONNEL NAME.
âCaptain, what are you doing?â
âAdministrative work.â
âShouldnât we at least contact him?â
Price checks the box beside personal leave.
âHeâs been missing for two days.â
Price writes seven beneath REQUESTED NUMBER OF DAYS, considers it, crosses it out, and replaces it with fourteen.
âSir.â
Price signs the bottom of the form with a flourish made violent by fatigue.
The operator makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat.
Price places the completed document neatly on top of the photograph showing his lieutenant sitting comfortably in a dungeon with a blanket beneath his ass, a half finished bottle of water by his foot, and enough slack in his restraints to knit a second rope.
âNo deployment,â Price says. âNo rescue attempt. No one contacts him unless thereâs an actual emergency.â
âBut- â
âSimonâs exactly where he wants to be right now.â
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Ghost who's been working himself half to death in the gym on base for hours, right?
Not the usual insane ghost workout that makes newbies cringe, but the kind that has him spilling blood onto the mats underneath the punching bags. Knuckles raw and red, face turned into a deep scowl.
Stood of to the side in the doorway, you sip a coffee. Gaz finally tilts his head after staring, having watched ghost push himself too far on the weights "he okay?"
"Yep. He just needs to get it out of his system." You huff, mostly here to babysit your boyfriend. A younger you would have begged him to stop, but you know there's really no avoiding when he gets like...this. "give him a bit to even out."
"What happened?" Kyle tears open a bag of crisps, hands you one.
"He dropped me while we were fucking against the wall." Your ass still hurts like hell from it. Gaz splutters and chokes next to you, doubles over to cough on his just eaten snack. "I told him it was fine, but he hates seeing me hurt."
"Christâ seriously?" Across the room, ghost returns back to the weights. You smile knowing you'll get to massage his biceps tonight. "I didn't think the guy could get it up."
"Oh he doesn't struggle with that, I promise." You chuckle, cast a glance at gaz.
He's light enough, you're sure. You know ghost better than he knows himself, and you explicitly remember how he and gaz spar on weekends. "hey, you ever been fucked against a wall? I'm sure si' would want to practice without hurting me."
"WHATâ" gaz flusters, more embarrassed than you've seen him...ever, really.
"I wouldn't mind it!" Ghost calls from across the empty gym, rough and low and more growl than anything else. "Cute ass, I've been dreamin' aboot it!"
Gaz makes a very significant squeak in his haste to retreat. You'll pick him up for the night next week.
Logan, post pit, somehow abducts Keegan but he doesn't kill him or lock the guy in his basement, he just slaps a mask on him and makes Keegan follow him around. He just needs someone he *knew* to see bullshit he deals with on the daily. It helps that Keegan has SERE training, so he keeps spilling his guts whenever Logan presses him for info, so about three hours after capturing him Logan is effectively caught up on The Tea that happened after he got abducted. Keegan has never been more terrified in his life and each second he spends as Logan's "prisoner" is a year off his life.
I am required by law to drabble because I got the hiccups last night and they would not go away (call of duty and transformers crossover au)
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ
Shadowseige was cruising on the freeway, his retractable roof up and the windows rolled up, making his way to the coordinates Megatron sent him for a planning meeting to prepare for a battle with the Autobots.
He had decided to bring Phillip along, in hopes of getting Megatron to warm up to the small human. Yes his boss may be trying to destroy the humans on this Earth in favor of taking over, but Shadowseige had grown fond of the tiny creature, for Graves wasnât scared of him, though try as he might to scare off the smaller than average human, it would seem that his brain chemistry would not allow for him to be afraid of the larger alien, in fact Graves was nothing but in awe of him. Of course, Shadowseige knew that it meant that the former commanderâs brain was not functioning as it should be and activating his fear response in order to protect itself, but thatâs what made Shadowsiege so fond of the human. If his body would not protect itself, then Shadowsiege would have to protect the small one, almost as a guardian would protect a sparkling.
Speaking of the human, Phillip was in the backseat, sleeping somewhat peacefully, buckled in and his head leaning against the head rest. Occasionally, a turn or a bump would wake him, and he would flinch, look around to determine where he was, then adjust his position, and go back to sleep.
However, this time, when a car nearby honked at another one for cutting it off, Phillip coughed, and stretched out before going back to his position.
It would also be interesting to him to see humans stretch. To pull or push their body parts to a point of faint pain, only for them to allow themselves to pull back in and let out a sigh, as if it was the greatest experience in the world and then just⌠stay there for a while. It was so intriguing to him , how does pain result in relaxa- HIC!
Shadowsiegeâs lights flashed momentarily in surprise, before focusing on the man riding in the back seat, who had suddenly gripped the seat.
âWhat was that?â Shadowsiege asked, his internal cameras watching the small man.
Graves relaxed his grip on the seat, holding up a finger and going silent, staring at nothing in particular, and he started holding his breath.
âPhillip. I asked you a question-â HIC! Shadowsiege went quiet. Now that he had been watching him, the weird noise seemed to have come from the humans chest, and its upper body appeared to have jolted. Shadowsiege may not know much about humans or their ways, but he knew whatever that was, it wasnât normal.
âDang it- Sorry, Iâve got the hiccups. Iâm- HIC! fine.â Philip sure didnât seem fine,especially since he was being interrupted by the noises, so he changed lanes onto an exit, then pulled off into an abandoned gas station, and came to a stop behind the building, carefully watching the human who was glitching at intervals the entire time
Transforming carefully around the human in a way so that when he came out of his alt mode, he was kneeling in the ground and holding the jolting human in his servos.
âWhy are you glitching?â Shadowseige asked, running scans on the human to try and determine the problem âAs far as Iâm aware, humans donât have parts that would cause glitching like thisâ He said, poking his finger at the humans chest a few times to try and get the glitching to stop.
Phillip chuckled, made the noise again, and started chuckling again immediately after. âI promise Iâm not- HIC! -glitching. Just the hiccups. Itâs completely normal for humans, you can- HIC! -look it up.â He said, putting his hands on Shadowsiegeâs servo to stop the poking.
Shadowsiege huffed as he looked online, then looked back down at the human in his palm when he had found out what he needed to know. âYou are hiccuping??â Graves nodded, his shoulders jumping up with each âhiccupâ
âI do not like this hiccuping. And you cannot control it either?â He frowned, watching as the human shook his head. âI can try to- HIC! -stop them if youâd like, but it doesnât always workâ
Shadowsiege nodded, watching as the human took a deep breath⌠and then held it. Confused, Shadowsiege tilted his head, watching the human with interest. After some time, he let go of the breath, sucking fresh air back into his lungs
âWhat was that for?â He asked. Phillip scratched the back of his neck âItâs a technique used to get rid of hiccups. And I believe it worked. See? No more hiccupsâ He said holding his arms out. Shadow siege narrowed his eyes, and pressed a servo to Gravesâ chest, holding it there to feel if the hiccups were truly gone. The human tensed, clenching his jaw slightly
âYour finger is cold.â He accused, and Shadowsiege simply rolled his optics. âDeal with it.â He growled, and Phillip stuck his tongue out at the robot, causing the alien to snort. âDonât you get snippy with me, humanâ
âFine. You seem to be alright I guess. Ready to get back on the road? Megatron wont be happy if Iâm late.â Graves nodded, and Shadowsiege transformed back into his alt mode, pulling out from behind the building and getting back onto the freeway. This time however, he subconsciously continued to look through the internet about hiccups, and to learn what he could about these intruiging creatures.
Big fan of Rorke being too comfortable being hands-on with Logan btw. Like casual shoulder pats. Grabbing his arm. Cuffing the back of his neck. Standing shoulder to shoulder. Ruffling his hair. I also think heâd be big mad if someone else did that to Logan because Rorke knows âHe doesnât like that shit!!â While also fully believing it canât apply to him. Logan meanwhile is frothing at the mouth in pure rage knowing he canât do shit.
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It all started because I thought what if Ghost got a bunch of random tattoos to cover up the marks they left on him? And well, one thing led to another, and this came out of it
Someone also asked me once if I had some kind of map of Simonâs scars so I guess this works...
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