#doom au

Demons are constant, an infinite plague that fuels itself. Demons don't necessarily die; they're physical forms can be slaughtered, and the fallen soul is damned back to hell where it begins a healing process of sorts. A Frankenstein's monster style of rejuvenation begins, as random parts and pieces of the slain demons build themselves back up into working bodies to continue spreading their disease across the world.

However, if demon hunters have rather successful periods, the demons cannot reform physical bodies fast enough to replenish in a steady stream. So, to accommodate for this, they form stronger, far more intelligent and lethal versions of themselves that all release at once in a phenomenon nicknamed "Jail Break".

Of the Jail Break demons are the nastiest of them all. Despite being rather small in stature, no larger than the average fiend they fight against, the Vile are the most lethal. They possess a potent mucus that bleeds from every crevice in their body. It's a demon borne infection: one that cannot be cured by holy hands or potions, but rather the slow, painful process of stuffing the body full of antibiotics and hoping it works.

The Vile have the highest recorded death count for demon hunters. Unlike most demons that target anyone and everything, Vile intentionally seek out and stalk demon hunters.

But the 141 are prepared for these sorts of encounters anytime the alarms of a Jail Break ring, thanks to their resident genius Soap MacTavish. Soap has designed extremely tough outerwear for the group to wear during a battle against Jail Break hordes. The most notable of the pieces are Gaz's wing sleeves, designed with holy sigils stitched into the material as an extra layer of protection for the half Angel.

Vile were known to target "holy" ones, and Gaz's golden wings served as a flashing "All You Can Eat Buffet" sign.

The battle started out favored towards the 141, with Ghost in full Demon Eater madness, taking on the largest of the demons; known simply as Trolls. Price had found his rhythm of spell casting and the loud cracks of his whip like weapons rang out across the makeshift battlefield. Gaz took on a heavy battle in the skies, winged creatures swarming him, only to fall in pieces back to the ground.

Soap was constantly on the move, his weapon, a crossbow, best working from a distance. It allowed him to keep an eye on everyone's blind spots, expertly taking out any threats without ever making a call for it or interrupting the pace the others had set for their individual fights.

The last encounter with a Vile was one that immediately leapt for Gaz the moment it crawled out of the portal. Soap's biggest job was to be the first to lay eyes on the creature, even if it were to just yell at Gaz to dodge.

But the battle was an hour in, and not a Vile to be seen. It made the Scotsman anxious, a creeping thought that the Vile had once again adapted, intelligent enough to make a different approach to the fight. Perhaps to take out their weakest link; which to Soap seemed to be him.

The Vile had a different perspective; to them, Soap MacTavish had earned himself a bit of a reputation. He was the cog in the machine that kept the whole operation running. If something incapacitated him, it made it easier for the demons to gain the advantage and overwhelm the other members. Soap was their all-seeing eye, the Sprites serving as his eyes and ears across the entire battlefield, completely safe from harm. He was the one most often on the move, difficult to pin down into one place. He was constantly using new tactics, weapons, and traps never before seen, all products of his own intelligence.

To the Vile, he was the one that needed to go.

But catching him was going to be hard.

Soap had recently developed a rough version of a cloaking device. If he remained still, mostly to catch his breath or ensure a clean shot, he would simply vanish in thin air. To most demons.

The Vile watched the entire battle from afar, having stalked around the buildings and hiding when it could to remain unseen by the Scotsman. It watched him lay flat on the ground, chest heaving with exhaustion.

The Vile pounced on the spot Soap last was seen, and its hit was almost perfect.

A long claw dug into the meat of Soap's thigh, and he let out a deep, animalistic cry as he shifted to blast the Vile in the face with an explosive crossbow bolt. The Vile disintegrated in a bloody spray.

But the damage was done.

Soap's leg had a massive hole in it, deep by several inches but narrowly avoiding any major artery or bone. He was out of position, already becoming weakened by the infection quickly taking root.

A loud screech echoed across the battlefield as Ghost leapt over everything to place his massive body protectively over Soap's. Gaz and Price quickly realized the severity of their situation, and fought a difficult retreat to the other two. Gaz quickly scooped Soap into his arms, taking a big push of his wings to sit himself behind Ghost's massive head, his crown of horns shielding them from all but one angle. Soap kept his crossbow drawn and aimed down Ghost's back, waiting for any little grunt to try it. He was already delirious, and all Gaz could do to assist him was alleviate a bit of the pain.

Ghost grabbed Price in one massive paw before taking off to the sky, rushing them back towards their base. It was a clumsy landing on Ghost's part, but no one batted an eye when they saw Gaz descend with Soap's limp body in his arms. The medical team rushed into getting the wound cleaned out and bandaged, needles poking into him to replenish the blood he lost and start the steady flow of antibiotics.

A few days passed before Laswell approached them to finally address the main problem: they were without their scientist. Soap carried many titles on the base; weapons expert, demolitions, demonology, potions/chemicals, and engineer. He was irreplaceable strictly in the professional sense; not a single individual would be able to fill in for every role Soap played for the demon hunters across the globe.

But they didn't have the resources to recruit more than one person to take Soap's place until he recovered.

Because he would, this was not up for discussion with his team.

A British man by the name of Niall was brought in to assume Soap's position. He was hardly qualified in half the fields Soap covered, but his engineering skills were the second best of known demon hunters.

Price tried to play nice in the beginning, but he made it very clear the lab still belonged to Soap, and that if anything changed inside he'd have his head. Gaz spoke to him only once, and decided his nasally, quiet voice was such a harsh contrast to his chaotic best friend he wanted nothing to do with the man.

Ghost was practically hostile. He kept mostly to his own quarters, now shared with Soap, or in Soap's private medical room. He avoided the lab like the plague, knowing the bastard called in had surely defiled Soap's sanctuary. But he couldn't do anything about it, as much as he wanted to tear the man's head from his shoulders.

Days turned into weeks, which turned into months, before there was any sign of improvement on Soap's wounds. Two months of torture for the team; with Soap facing constant infection induced nightmares and loss of consciousness, to the rather odd man hired to assume his place.

Niall wasn't personable, he often came across as cold and rude. He argued often with the others about plans of action and tactics. Tactics that Soap himself thought of and implemented, tactics that have yet to fail them (minus the rapid adaptation of the Vile). He spent a lot of time in Soap's lab, yet the others never once stepped foot inside; they were all too aware of how violently they'd react upon seeing a spotless workspace.

And so, this is how they ended up in this situation. A newly released from medical Soap standing in the doorway of his lab, shocked and frankly nervous demon eater and half angel looking over his shoulders.

The lab was sparkling it was so clean. Everything had been organized, and if you weren't familiar with anything inside you'd think it was the cleanest lab on earth.

But they were familiar, Soap was most familiar. Everything had been stored either incorrectly, in extremely unsafe ways, or just haphazardly put into a place to call the area clean.

And standing in the center of the crime scene, was the man responsible. Niall turned around in shock, thick framed glasses slipping from his nose. He adjusted them while giving Soap a judging inspection, clearly ignorant to the rage seeping from the Scot in the form of vibrant green flames.

Ghost and Gaz nervously glanced at each other as Niall took a step forward, extending a hand as he tried introducing himself. Soap glared at his hand like it had personally offended him and his entire ancestry, which it might as well have.

"Get. Out. Of. My. Lab." Soap growled, knuckles cracking with the force in which he balled them into fists as his sides. Niall had the audacity to look offended, before he finally noticed the eerie green glow emanating from the hunter in front of him, and he quickly excused himself.

"Johnny-" Ghost started, but a harsh glare sent his way from over Soap's shoulder quickly silenced him.

"Fuck. Off." The Scot grunted, and the two obediently exited his lab.

Hours passed with no sign of life from within the lab. No blasting metal music, no yelling and cursing from a frustrated scientist, nothing but an eerie silence. It was uncomfortable, especially for the demon eater. Ghost knew they should have done a better job at protecting Soap's lab, his safe haven. But they didn't, and now, after several miserable weeks and limp still present, Soap was tasked with getting his lab back in working order. Working for him, at least.

For as long as Soap had been there, Price had never known the lab to be clean. Hell, if he had seen it in the state Niall left it in, he would have been shocked at the color of the floors, of the walls. Shocked at seeing various things he had never seen before.

But Soap knew everything in that lab. He knew it better than himself. He had a perfect mental map of where everything was, what purpose it served, how to use it, how to store it, hell even where/how he acquired it. It was chaos to the naked eye, but to Soap, it was simply a physical manifestation of his own mind. A mess that made sense only to him, and he took great comfort in having full control in the lab as compared to how useless he felt against his own mind.

The lab worked for him, with him, not against him like his own mind often did. Every decision in the lab was his to make, and it became law there. But his mind often made no sense, changing its laws like the seasons, and it often left Soap feeling stranded in a sea of his own thoughts.

Eventually, night settled over the base, and everyone had gone to bed. Everyone except Soap, Ghost noted, as he paced their quarters. Finally, he grabbed Soap's favorite hoodie of his, the thing designed to fit his more wild human appearance, and practically swallowed the Scotsman whole.

He didn't bother knocking at the door, just simply entered it. To say he was shocked to see Soap still in the same place they had left him would be a lie. He almost assumed seeing his lab in this way would break him, and it did. Soap managed to find his good stool, and was sitting rigidly on it, leaning more on his good side. Ghost reached for him, an ungloved, clawed hand of graying skin wrapping around the base of Soap's skull.

"Don't-" Soap started but a quiet hush from Ghost made him silent. He looked up at the demon eater with red, puffy eyes, a few stray tears still lingering. Ghost tutted at him like a worried mother hen, gently wiping his tears and placing a delicate kiss on his nose.

"Tomorrow we will fix it-" Ghost's words of encouragement were interrupted by a strangled sob from the hunter.

"You didn't protect it." Soap sobbed out, and in a single moment, every once of human left in Simon Riley's body forced itself to the top. His throat tightened as tears formed in his eyes, his horns shrinking and his claws returning to human nails.

"Because if I had, I would have killed him. We needed someone, Johnny. But I couldn't bring myself to leave your side. That's where you needed me most." Ghost murmured as he started to pull the hoodie over Soap's head. The Scot let out another noise before dropping his head against Ghost's broad chest.

"If you fuckers think you're gettin' out of helping get this shit back into shape, you're dead fucking wrong." Soap grumbled into Ghost's neck as the demon eater lifted him into his arms.

"That's not a concern for right now. You need rest." Ghost whispered back, and Soap mumbled something under his breath, but Ghost's sensitive ears picked up on it.

"Why don't get you get yourself and your lab back into shape before you make me pay for it?" Ghost quipped back as they reached their quarters, and Soap let out a sleepy yawn as Ghost gently set him down on the bed.

"Fine, but I'm never telling when it's gonna happen." Soap grumbles as he rolls over onto his stomach, and a soft smile graces Ghost's chapped lips. He presses a kiss against Soap's temple before sliding into bed next to him, his massive tail wrapping around to lay protectively on the Scotsman.