What if I told you I already started writing the Cyberknights AU and haven't posted it bc I'm still not sure about the first chapter lol
Anyway some of these are older stuff (the first is from 2024 rip) from the AU that I haven't posted yet for various reasons...
First is just me figuring out how the 141 would look, gave everyone longer hair bc I can, second is a study of Soap's helm (and a redesign since it didn't make much sense before), and the last three are a preview of sketches I plan to add to the end of each chapter
I hope I'll be able to post more now that I have more time, because I do miss working on cod stuff!
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Necromechanic - Chapter 3: Orders are to be Obeyed
[PREV CHAPTER] [AO3]
I've been looking forward to posting this chapter, it's one of my faves >:)
"Do you require assistance, Sir MacTavish?"
Soap hauls the heavy pack of supplies over his shoulder again, the damn strap sliding on the fabric of his undergarments between his armour.
"You appear to be struggling, Sir MacTa-"
"If ye want to help, you can go ahead." Soap grunts, boots slipping on the damp cobblestone. If Ghost calls him bloody 'Sir MacTavish' one more time…
"Unregistered command: 'Want'. Elaborate."
Soap stops, turning to look over his shoulder at Ghost. "When you get the urge to help me, do it. I'm not gonna command you to do anything."
That seemed to finally stump Ghost, so Soap turned back to the path, shoulders and leg screaming in pain.
The Aether Tear placed them farther from the field camp they're meant to drop the supplies at, some desolate place in France… Well, the entire country is quite empty, as it was among the first places the Aether invaded.
And so, they've been walking for the better part of three hours, if the sun is any indication. This type of quest is one of the more common, as the field camps are the only places a knight could repair any damaged armour, and recharge their gear. More than once Soap reckons he'd be dead without them.
Despite their importance, Soap can't help but feel disgruntled with it all. At least if they had to fight something it would distract him from Ghost's current state.
Unless it's an order or a request for one, he hasn't said a word. Nothing that tells Soap he's making any progress. If he didn't know any better, he'd never think he's any more than a robot.
"Ye really don't remember anything?" Soap asks, his anger mellowing into something worse, a helpless sort of desperation to find anything to fuel his dwindling hope.
"Database has been restored to backup snapshot. Recent memory has been cleared. What information are you referring to?"
"I-" He tries to think back to their many conversations, "I told ye once what I like to drink in the morning. I uh… Wasn't able to fall asleep, like usual." He chuckles bitterly, "you know what it is?"
Ghost doesn't answer him for a few seconds, and Soap sighs, the dark pit in his stomach dropping further down. It's silent for long enough that Ghost's words startle him.
"… Coffee." His voice distorts around the word, as if it's cracking. Soap stops in his tracks, swivelling around to stare at him. Did Ghost just…?
"Say that again." He demands, needing to know he didn't just hear what he so desperately wished for.
Ghost's voice is even again when he replies, "instructions unclear. Rephrase your order."
Soap pushes again, "ye said it, I heard ye! Say it again!"
"Instructions unclear. Rephrase your order."
"Ye fuckin'- Forget it." Soap exhales roughly, restarting his walk. He repeats Ghost's words over and over in his head, the fact that he did remember… But seemed to try and pretend he doesn't.
No… Ghost wouldn't do that to him. He was terrified of being taken away, being forced to leave. Soap suspects that some protocol kicked in and made him stop the conversation. But… This means his memories are in there, at least some of them, if he could remember that Soap prefers coffee.
It means there is still a chance for them to return.
They continued walking in silence, Soap stewing in theories and possible explanations, his anger coming back with full force, as he thinks how bloody unfair it all is.
As if his mood couldn't get any worse, Soap sees water hit his helm, the damned drop sliding down his visor and distorting his vision. He looks up, wishing it was only the leftovers from a previous day, but more drops join it, trickling down from the yellow-orange sky.
Rain. Aetherium-corrupted rain.
The Watchers didn't say a thing about a storm, Soap thinks as he stares furious at the treacherous sky.
"Ghost-"
"Imminent Aether-form contact. Prepare to engage." Ghost unsheathes his weapons, and Soap drops his supply pack to do the same.
Rain in the Lost Lands only heralds one thing - and it is not growth and life, no trees take root in this wretched earth.
No, it is only monsters that thrive here.
Dozens of undead emerge from northward, following the path of the storm. These are older, Soap can tell by their clothes. Shambling corpses of soldiers decades old, a constant unliving reminder of what the world used to look like before. He initially hopes this means the impending fight will be easier, but the scratching of metal on stone dashes those notions.
From the horde rises a snarling beast, one armoured by plates of titanium, and armed with a long, curved blade. As one of the Aether's many mechanical forms, the mangler is a monster Soap is meant to fight himself as a mechanical specialist.
As such, he shouts to Ghost, "I'm going for the mangler, cover me!"
And as he cannot argue with orders, Ghost does, even if before he would've told Soap to reconsider. The thought only fuels him further.
His swords unsheathe in a flash, taking down the first zombies that stand between him and the mangler. The behemoth rushes towards him, barrelling through the hoard like an arrow through air. Ghost's blades follow him, taking down any shambling corpses veering his way.
Soap quickly scans the mangler's body for weak points, the gaps in its armour where rotten flesh peaks through. This specific bastard is, like the zombies, of an older kind, his armour more similar to that of soldiers from before the corruption took hold of their world. The sigil etched on the shoulder piece of the mangler grants it swifter speed, but also denotes that its plates are weaker.
This means Soap should be able to break it with brute force.
Just as the heavy monster swings at him, Soap drops to a slide, twirling around it and stabbing at its back. He manages to break its helm, but the mangler swivels faster than he expects.
He sees the blade coming straight for his head, and barely leans back in time to avoid getting hit. The mangler misses his head, but one of his oxygen tubes gets snagged, and eventually rips altogether from his helm.
Soap stumbles back, gasping for air. The iron-like taste of Aetherium fills his mouth, and he watches in horror as the gauge of his oxygen tank drop rapidly. If he runs out, he'd be corrupted and turned before Price and Gaz can even get here. His eyes drift towards his flaming blade, and he instantly brings it closer to the ripped tube, pressing against the opening. The acrid smell of burning metal and plastic makes his eyes water, and he blindly dodges a zombie attempting to bite him, but after a few seconds the gauge of his oxygen stops moving, and he lifts the ripped tube to see the opening has been seared shut.
Blinking the tears away, Soap finally sees that Ghost has been distracting the mangler, throwing knives at its exposed head and weaving around its blade.
With gasping breaths, Soap runs towards them, using the distraction to plunge his swords into the mangler's skull, killing it once and for all. He tried to continue and slice through the remaining enemies, but his movements are sluggish, and Ghost finishes them off before he can get his bearings.
When the last corpse drops, he nearly follows, but by sheer will Soap stays standing, his swords shaking in his hands. Ghost returns to his side, and after a few seconds of scanning speaks.
"Your armour has been damaged, Sir MacTavish."
"Astute- hah, astute observation." Fucking hell, talking is becoming difficult.
Ghost doesn't pay mind to his attempt at a joke, "your oxygen levels are dangerously low. Recommending sending a request for backup."
As long range communication doesn't work in the Lost Lands, that would mean shooting a flare and waiting for someone, likely the Captain and Gaz, to come help, and he will not do that voluntarily. He's not crawling back to them again.
Looking around, he realises he's been here before, on a quest with his old squad. It was one of the last few they completed, where Soap slipped and swore he broke his arse. He told it to Ghost, on a night where he couldn't silence his thoughts long enough to sleep, before… Before it all changed.
"There's a-" Soap coughs, his head aching, "there's a closer field camp, the Scottish knights use- use it. We're going there."
"Calculations indicate your oxygen will run out before we reach the destination. Reconsideration recommended."
He steps closer to Ghost, jabbing an alarmingly weak finger at his chest, "ye wanna call for Price and Gaz? Go ahead and do it, but I'm not ordering ye to do shit."
Ghost doesn't listen to him, instead trying to override his commands the only way he is allowed, "Attempting contact with Sir Price…"
Soap scoffs, picking up his pack and doing his best to not topple over under the additional weight. He hears Ghost say "contact unsuccessful. Sir MacTavish's orders take priority" as he begins walking towards the field camp. With no one else around to order him, Ghost has no choice but to obey Soap's reckless decisions. And he's fully aware they're reckless, he knows Ghost is right.
But he does have another choice. If he chooses to disobey, to think for himself, to decide according to his wants. Soap thinks that's why he's willing to risk asphyxiation. If only so he could break through him.
Ghost stays silent. He continues walking.
Minutes trickle slowly, every step a monumental battle, the pack slips from his shoulder almost constantly now. Soap doesn't know how long they marched on like this, but eventually the gauge of his oxygen hits almost zero, the air in his lungs getting thinner and thinner. A few more steps, and his sight darkens, heavy head tipping forwards, and belatedly he registers himself fall to the ground.
"G-Ghost… I can't… Can't breathe…" Soap mumbles, his eyelids slipping shut.
He feels arms wrapping around his shoulders, and the world dims into darkness before he could push them away.
SYSTEM DIAGNOSTICS RUNNING… NO ERRORS FOUND
AETHERIUM INHIBITOR STATUS: NORMAL
CURRENT LOCATION: 49°10′53″N 00°21′49″W
CURRENT OBJECTIVE: INSPECT SIR MACTAVISH
.
INSPECTION RUNNING… OXYGEN LEVELS LOW… HYPOXEMIA DETECTED… DEATH IMMINENT IN THE NEXT 60 MINUTES…
.
>QUARRY TIME OF ARRIVAL OF SIR PRICE AND SIR GARRICK
.
CALCULATING ESTIMATED LOCATION OF CYBERKNIGHTS "SIR JONATHAN PRICE", "SIR KYLE GARRICK"… CONCLUSION: ESTIMATED ARRIVAL AT T+90 MINUTES… DISREGARD
.
>RUN RECORDING
.
RUNNING RECORDING… "there's a closer field camp, the Scottish knights use- use it. We're going there."… SCANNING DATABASE FOR "FIELD CAMP", "SCOTTISH"… NO RESULTS FOUND
.
CURRENT DATA INSUFFICIENT… SCANNING FOR ADDITIONAL DATA… SCAN RUNNING…
.
LOCATED FILE "Ș̶̢̧̛͇̘̦̜͓̲͈̟͔̳͍̭͕̤̾̀̅́̇̾͘o̵̜͒̈́̒̄͜ą̷̡̢̥̖̪̫̳̦̝̠̻̈̊̽̔̍̈́̄̄̑͆͘͜͜͜ͅͅp̷̢̛̫͇͔̟̳̺̘̣̪̜͈͍͖̘͚̃̍̿͒̔͐̈́͒̑̀̕̚͠͠"… ACCESS DENIED… PERMISSIONS LACK ACCESS TO FILE "Ș̶̢̧̛͇̘̦̜͓̲͈̟͔̳͍̭͕̤̾̀̅́̇̾͘o̵̜͒̈́̒̄͜ą̷̡̢̥̖̪̫̳̦̝̠̻̈̊̽̔̍̈́̄̄̑͆͘͜͜͜ͅͅp̷̢̛̫͇͔̟̳̺̘̣̪̜͈͍͖̘͚̃̍̿͒̔͐̈́͒̑̀̕̚͠͠"
.
>ACTIVATE EMERGENCY MODE
.
EMERGENCY MODE ACTIVATED… OBJECTIVE: AID SIR MACTAVISH ALLOWS OVERRIDES GRANTED BY SIR PRICE
.
OVERRIDE ACCEPTED
.
DO YOU WANT TO OPEN FILE "Ș̶̢̧̛͇̘̦̜͓̲͈̟͔̳͍̭͕̤̾̀̅́̇̾͘o̵̜͒̈́̒̄͜ą̷̡̢̥̖̪̫̳̦̝̠̻̈̊̽̔̍̈́̄̄̑͆͘͜͜͜ͅͅp̷̢̛̫͇͔̟̳̺̘̣̪̜͈͍͖̘͚̃̍̿͒̔͐̈́͒̑̀̕̚͠͠"? [YES] [NO]
Location: British Fort of Cyberknights, time: 10:37. Objective: Awaiting orders
"Say 'Soap'."
"Soap."
"Great! Now call me Soap."
"You do not have permissions to change names registered in the database, Sir MacTavish. Only the Captain is allowed to make changes."
"I swear yer doing it on purpose just to me, Ghostie."
>SOAP…
Location: British Fort of Cyberknights, time: 23:16. Objective: Engage in conversation with Sir MacTavish
"I tell ye, I swear they all were about to puke from laughter! I slipped so hard Ah was sure I broke my tailbone, was moaning like a cat in heat about the pain!"
Scanning medical records registered under "Sir MacTavish", "tailbone" "break"… No match found
"You never broke your tailbone, Sir MacTavish."
"Ah didn't, aye. But it did hurt like hell, had to carry that supply pack with a nearly broken arse. Where was that… Around Caen, in France. Yeah, there's a field camp there, only the Scottish knights really use it. Just North of where the town ends."
>REPEAT RECORDING
"Around Caen- Just North of where the town ends."
>REGISTER NEW DESTINATION: CAEN FIELD CAMP
>REGISTER NEW OBJECTIVE: BRING SIR MACTAVISH TO CAEN FIELD CAMP
NEW OBJECTIVE REGISTERED
SYSTEM DIAGNOSTICS RUNNING… 6 ERRORS FOUND
AETHERIUM INHIBITOR STATUS: CAUTION
CURRENT LOCATION: 49°10′53″N 00°21′49″W
CURRENT OBJECTIVE: BRING SIR MACTAVISH TO CAEN FIELD CAMP
.
SCANNING… Sir MacTavish is still unconscious. Breathing shallow, death imminent in the next 56 minutes-
.
He can't let Soap die.
Ghost lifts him, situating his limp body over his back. He picks up the supply pack, knowing the field camp may be empty, considering how little it is used.
The route north of Caen is marked on the map at his periphery, his scanners constantly pinging off potential locations.
He begins to run.
Errors blip over his vision, warnings that his Aetherium inhibitor is acting up. He continues to ignore them. Every step brings him new clarity, new memories flooding his system with each laboured breath he registers Soap taking.
A mounting realization brews within his whirring gears.
EVIDENCE: DATA HAS NOT BEEN DELETED… MEMORIES INDICATE AUTONOMOUS THINKING PROCESS… MEMORIES INDICATE ABILITY TO IGNORE PERMISSIONS… MEMORIES INDICATE ABILITY TO BREAK PROTOCOLS
CONCLUSION: I AM NOT A ROBOT
Ghost doesn't allow his speed to falter, even as he almost trips over the uneven stone path. He remembers now, all that they had locked away from him.
He remembers what he is.
SCANNING… Soap's oxygen is almost out. Death imminent in the next 10 to 13 minutes.
>OVERCLOCK PROCESSORS, OBJECTIVE: FIND THE FIELD CAMP
Fans working at double speed, Ghost's scanners survey the land at a dangerous pace, the warnings in his system blaring loudly. If Soap wasn't covered from head to toe in armour, his skin would likely begin to sear under Ghost's overheating body.
The death knell rings ever closer to Soap's demise, each second a precious bit of air he's losing. Ghost's processors nearly give out, but right before the fail safe protocol kicks in, it pings it.
The field camp. It really was here.
Buried half underground, the camp only has the bare necessities a knight would need, but Ghost has eyes only for the oxygen recharging station at the corner.
He slides Soap carefully off his back, hands working quickly to detach the damaged oxygen tube from his helm, and connect the charging station's tube instead. Red lights flash from the station, and Ghost has to stop himself from punching it when the screen shows it's empty.
Death imminent in the next 4 to 6 minutes.
The supply pack rips open from the force of his movements, and Ghost digs through the scattered resources to find one precious oxygen refuel tank.
Ghost opens the back of the station, tearing the empty tank out, and installing the new one. The station's screen flashes green, and finally, his scans tell him something new.
SCANNING… Oxygen levels returning to normal... Death risk percentage lowering…
Soap is going to live.
Ghost leaves him leaning against the wall, his chest moving at a calmer rate now.
He begins combing through the errors bugging his system. allowing his processors to cool down gets rid of most of them, the rest a byproduct of his memories resurfacing.
The inherent sense that something is off remains.
Ghost inspects his arms. Scanning shows those are his arms. But there is something wrong about them, the metal too cool, the texture too smooth. Those are not his arms. They're wrong. He is wrong.
He's not a robot. And yet, he can't be human, because he does not need to eat, or drink, or sleep. Nowhere in his memories does he do that, and he sees no way to remove his armour, his own system informing him the majority of his body is metal anyway. No, Ghost's body runs on Aetherium, which means he's…
He's an Aether form. A zombie.
A walking corpse.
ERROR: INCREASED PROCESSOR LOAD DETECTED
ERROR: CHASSIS TEMPERATURE INCREASE DETECTED
ERROR-
>ENOUGH!
Ghost chooses to ignore the rest of the error messages, his eyes gliding toward Soap, who began moving not too long ago. He has to make sure his head doesn't jerk too far from the recharging station's tube. With his vital signs restabilised, Ghost tried waking him up.
"Soap?" He shakes his shoulder gently, "Sir MacTavish, how copy?"
Soap groans, his head turning Ghost's way. "G-Ghost? Where… Wait." He sits up, nearly bashing his helm on Ghost's head, "what did ye call me?"
"Soap." He answers easily, as if saying his name is the most natural sound his speakers could produce.
"You-" Soap's hand shakily grasps at his helmet, and Ghost watches as he realises what had happened. "You remember?"
"I do. I remember who you are…" he looks away for a moment, some odd tightness spreading through his chest, despite the fact no physical pressure is being applied there.
"I remember what I am."
Excerpt from John "Soap" MacTavish's journal, page 3 ("MANGLER"):
Necromechanic - Chapter 2: A Knight Must Never Abandon His Brethren
[PREV CHAPTER] [AO3]
What's fun about having a schedule for posting is that now I too look forward to Sunday to see what you will think about the new chapter lol
Drip, drip, drip
"W-What?" Soap mumbles, frozen in place, mind reeling.
A deafening crunch comes from somewhere in Ghost's body, and more blood spurts from the wound. The remaining zombies begin to notice their presence, growling and running towards them.
Ghost shouts, "RUN!"
Feet dragging on harsh ground, Soap's instincts finally get him to move. His eyes quickly bounce between the mimic and the horde, hands gripping the hilts of his swords tightly. He tries to rise, but his left knee buckles, the hit he took when Ghost shoved him out of the way too much for it to handle. Gurgled shrieks come closer, closer, and leave Soap with no choice.
He slides his fingers up, under the cross guard of his weapons. In a practised move, Soap presses both buttons with a click.
Field Talent activated.
Instantly, his arms begin shaking with barely leashed power, red sparks clouding his vision, growling pouring unbidden from his throat. He jumps to his feet, and not a moment later dashes towards the mimic, towards Ghost.
The zombies sense the abrupt spike in Aetherium, stumbling between him and his goal, his Talent attracting them like flies to rotten flesh. It matters not to him.
Arms moving faster than his brain could comprehend, Soap slashes through the undead, steps not slowing as he gets closer to his target. The meter of his Talent depletes to almost zero and refills again every few moments, the Aetherium in the zombies' blood sustaining it. Soap knows that the moment he stops fighting, he will not be able to get back up again.
Three, two, one more step, and Soap lunges at the mimic, using both swords to cut off the limb impaling Ghost. The wretched creature howls, and tries to close its maw on Soap's arm. He moves at the last second, switching the grip on his right blade to pierce it straight through the mimic's head. It twitches once, and falls still.
With a snarl, Soap pulls the sword out, and turns to look at Ghost.
"Y-Y-You should've ran." Ghost's pitch switches from low to high rapidly, voice wavering.
Soap uses the last of his power to stomp his way, collapsing nearly on top of him. He breathes heavily, staring at the ground as he tries to gather his thoughts.
"Soap-"
"Fuck you." Soap seethes, eyes finally locking on Ghost. "I'm not leaving you here to fuckin' die!"
Ghost presses his hand into the gaping wound at his chest, which does nothing to quell the steady stream of blood flowing out of it. It's too much blood for a human, and entirely too much for a supposed robot.
"I'm not going to d-d-die." Ghost asserted. "But you have t-to leave."
"I just told ye I'm not going to-!"
"They can't know that you know." Ghost grabs his arm, "they can't know I know, They'll t-take me away, I don't want to g-g-go-" his voice distorts, the rest of the sentence unintelligible.
Soap looks down at the hand wrapped around him, and feels the trembles making the metal clink. It's a heartbreaking realization, that the first emotion he's ever seen Ghost display is fear.
"Who are ye talkin' about? Who can't know about-"
"I-I-I-I will explain everything l-later. You need to go, lie to them that you s-s-saw nothing." Ghost's head twitches, and a beeping noise begins echoing through his body, "tell them t-t-the mimic took me."
Soap frowned, his very core abhorring the idea of leaving Ghost here, injured and alone. But the utter terror laced in Ghost's words makes the decision for him.
"Ye owe me a lot of answers when you come back." Soap says, "so you better come back."
Ghost lets his arm fall, allowing Soap to try and get up. His swords tremble as he uses them as a crutch.
"I will, Soap. I-" All the lights on Ghost's body turn off at once, and for a horrifying moment Soap fears he lied to him, that he just watched him die, when he barely knew he was alive in the first place.
But the lights come back on, and a flat voice begins speaking, "emergency system reset detected. Protocol 'Repatriation' engaged."
Ghost abruptly rises to his feet, and Soap nearly gets crushed by them as Ghost begins walking as if nothing happened to him. "Ghost?" he asks hesitantly, but receives no answer, as the not-robot simply leaves.
Protocol Repatriation… must be something that allows Ghost to return home even while critically injured. At least that's what Soap hopes.
Alone in an alleyway filled with unmoving corpses, Soap exhales. He taps the side of his helm, trying to reach Price or Gaz's communication channels.
"Captain? Gaz? Need a bit of help over here…" Soap trails off when he hears no response. Sighing, he resigns himself to a very long, very painful crawl towards their last known location. Humiliating as it is, at least there are none to judge him, beside God.
Thirty minutes of an agonizingly slow crawl later, where Soap debated simply giving up and waiting for Price and Gaz to notice his absence and find him (which would be undoubtedly more shameful than his current situation) the comm channels pick up a signal.
"-Done over on this side, Captain." Gaz's voice comes through, and Soap has never been happier to hear him.
"Captain!" Soap nearly shouts, "we've- I need aid!"
"What did you do this time MacTavish?" Kyle scoffed, before Price's voice cut him off.
"Where are you? Where's Ghost?" The Captain asks, and Soap swallows thickly before he answers. Lying to his Captain could get him into hot waters with the Watchers, but as long as they don't find out…
"Ghost's gone," he answers, "mimic fuckin' took him, barely got out of there myself, there were too many of them-"
He hears Price sigh over the comm line, "you're alright lad, we'll come get you. I'll talk with J.S. Systems, we'll get him back."
Soap almost brings up Protocol Repatriation, but shuts his mouth at the last second. Better leave as much information out, if it goes unasked.
"Give me your location, Soap, Garrick will get the Tear open there."
He mutters whatever coordinates show up on his display, and turns to lay on his back, staring up at the yellowish skies. He readies himself for the many questions he'll have to face once they return to the Order's fort.
SYSTEM DIAGNOSTICS RUNNING… EMERGENCY MODE ENGAGED…. OUTER CHASSIS DAMAGED… INTERNAL ORGANS DAMAGED… 27 MORE ALERTS ACTIVE
AETHERIUM INHIBITOR STATUS: RESET REQUIRED
CURRENT LOCATION: 52.48448°N 1.89688°W
CURRENT OBJECTIVE: RETURN TO LOCATION J.S. HQ
The healers had nothing to say to him at this point, and only gave him and Price a disapproving look as they see Soap dragged yet again to the infirmary. To his credit, it's been at least 2 months since he's ended up here.
As usual, there wasn't anything they could really do to help him beside give him painkillers and send him on bed rest for the next week or so. Usually he hates it, but this time it allows him to get away with not meeting the Watchers, and while he could lie to Price, lying to them is a whole different level of blasphemy.
Still, there's nothing worse than being confided to these four walls, with no companion but pain to keep him company.
He thought about using the time to research possible answers to the many questions plaguing his mind since they returned from the Lost Lands, but the prospect of Ghost's secret being found out scared him away from it. Left with nothing else to do, Soap resorted to sketching in his beat-up journal, interspersing the drawings of mimics and barren lands with notes, questions, and frustrated rants analysing every single thing that went wrong on that quest, and how most of it boiled down to his fault.
Price visited a couple of times, and every time Soap asked about Ghost he said, "we're waiting for a response from J.S. Systems."
The longer he heard that answer, the more he hated J.S. Systems and their steamin' secrecy. And the more he thought about it, Soap realised there must be something very wrong hiding in those labs of theirs, if they're the ones to create Ghost as he is today.
He'd have to do investigating in that direction, once his bloody knee stops aching.
Finally out after nine days of pure torture, the first thing Soap does is lay down in the courtyard at the middle of the British Order's fort. Unlike the outer courtyards, here there are no squires training for hours on end, and it's quiet enough for him to hear the gentle chirping of birds.
He closes his eyes, letting the sun warm his skin, which he's sure has turned a pale colour. For a moment, he can breathe easy, and pretend like the near-constant pain radiating from his left leg isn't there.
Soap thinks he could've even fallen asleep like this, if he wasn't so rudely interrupted by a shadow falling over his face.
He cracks an eye to find Gaz standing above him, an unimpressed look on his face, "do we have a new quest or are ye just here to bother me?"
Gaz rolls his eyes, "someone here has to do the work, considering you're lazing about. You haven't been in training since we got back."
Haven't been anywhere but his damned bed for that matter, but he says nothing, opting to close his eyes now that he knows Kyle is only here to lecture him again. He hears Gaz sigh, before he continues, "Ghost's back. Captain told me to notify you."
Soap's eyes open wide, and he springs to his feet as fast as physically possible for him, "He's back?! Where is he?!"
"Think he just left the Workshop-" Soap doesn't stay around long enough to hear the rest of his sentence, practically running towards the Workshop. His leg falters for a moment before he pushes through the pain, mind whirling with the questions he's been trying to answer for the last several days.
The halls leading to it are empty, most knights hard at work training, and Soap is glad for it as he easily finds Ghost walking ahead.
"Ghost!" Soap called. He frowned as Ghost ignored him, and ran ahead to step in front of his path, "Ghost? Where are you going?"
Ghost finally stops, and as Soap waits for him to answer a terrible feeling begins stirring within his chest.
"Sir MacTavish," Ghost's voice is devoid of any emotion, "do you require assistance?"
No. It can't be. "What- No, I wanted to see ye-"
Ghost tries to walk around him, completely disregarding him, "Ghost, wait!" He pushes against his metal chest, but the bloody giant doesn't slow down even a tad. Walking backwards, he tries to get through him one last time, "don't ye remember yer promise from before?!"
Strong arms pick him up, and he flails in the air for a moment until he's set aside, and Ghost continues on his path as if he never said a thing. Soap stares at him until he turns around a corner, and then he stumbles back towards the wall.
He doesn't want to admit it, but the Ghost that barely acknowledged his existence now, that didn't respond to anything beside absolute orders, is one he knows. It is not the Ghost he left in the Lost Lands nine days ago, but the one he met two months ago, when he first arrived here.
The one that was, for all intents and purposes, a true robot, and none of them have suspected otherwise.
Soap's breath shudders, as the pieces fall together, that Ghost never returned to him. The being that walked away had no recollection of what has happened, and saw Soap as nothing more than an obstacle on his path.
He slides down the wall, head hanging low, wallowing in a flash of grief, until determination sets in.
Soap has broken through Ghost before. He's not giving up just yet.
The Workshop houses all the mechanical parts that a knight requires, as well as any projects mechanical specialists work on. In its furthermost corner, nearly out of sight, a stranger to the Order has set up shop, the only person that might be able to answer some of Soap's questions.
Gary Sanderson isn't well-liked among the knights. It mostly comes from the fact that his family's business relates closely to the military, and partly just because he's an outsider. It doesn't help that this little family business of his happens to be J.S. Systems, one of the biggest weapons manufacturers in the British Isles, and a close friend of many military factions around the world.
Luckily for Soap, he knows a thing or two about being a black sheep, and he and Gary are acquaintances of sorts. So when he comes knocking into his little room in the Workshop, Gary isn't all that surprised, giving him a wave and instantly typing the words he wants to say.
"Soap! Haven't seen you in a while, how are you?" The text-to-speech speaker lets out.
He takes a seat at the only free stool, a mechanical gauntlet tickling his left side, "I'm alright, we were on a mission earlier and I wanted to ask you about Ghost-"
Gary gives him a nasty side-eye, "oh I know you were, you know Ghost's body parts don't come in cheap, he's not easy to fix!"
Soap feels his lips press together, "aye, I didn't want to leave him, fuckin' mimic dragged him away before I could kill it." He sighs, "look, he's been acting a little off, do you know if he's going to… Return to the way he was before?"
It feels off to talk about Ghost like that, but Soap doubts Gary has any idea just what he's dealing with. He wouldn't be so nonchalant about a robot that has the ability to bleed.
Gary hums, and he taps the side of his keyboard. "I'm not 100% sure. They had to do a full reset on him, so the only information left is whatever's we got from his database, so things like protocols and names and IDs, but whatever you two talked about in the last couple of months is all gone."
It's all… Gone? Just like that, their entire friendship, their jokes, the promise… Gone.
"He'll pick it back up quickly, though, I'm sure." Gary tries to comfort him, and Soap nods his head automatically, heavy fog settling in his mind.
"Right… Thanks Gary. I'll… I'll see ye around." He gets up without waiting for a response, and numbly walks out of the Workshop.
Anger overcomes him unexpectedly. How could they erase Ghost's memories like that?! Take away everything that made him different, revert him to a mindless servant, a machine that doesn't talk back, doesn't complain, doesn't fear.
Soap stops in his place, arms shaking with fury. He doesn't accept it, the fact he's gone. They could be lying. They lied about him being a robot, after all.
'A Knight Must Never Abandon His Brethren'. His oath can never be broken, and Soap does not intend to do so with Ghost. Not until it is clear there is nothing left to abandon.
A young page, a girl no older than 10, caught him on the way back to the halls, passing a message to him from Price. The Captain wants to meet him at the armoury.
Soap usually dreads private talks with the Captain, especially after getting injured. It's all 'are you alright?' and 'can you handle another quest?', questioning whether he can do the most basic of things as if he's a newborn baby. Today, though, as he's already fuming, he only wants to get this over with as soon as possible so he could find Ghost.
Turns out, Price didn't only call on him.
"Soap, I'm glad you could join us," the Captain greets him, Ghost standing stock still behind him, "take a seat, son."
Soap stays on his feet. Price sighs and continues, "I assume you've already met with Ghost."
He keeps his glare directed at the Captain, trying to keep his focus away from Ghost, "aye."
"J.S. Systems told me he's not going to act exactly the same." fuckin' understatement if he's ever heard one, "are you going to be alright?" there it is, Soap almost thought he's not going to bring it up. Useless hopes.
He straightens, making sure to put weight on his left leg even if it hurts, "whatever quest we receive, I am ready to accept it, Captain."
"That's… good, but it's not why I'm asking. You and Ghost were close before-"
"I am alright, Captain. Our duty is more important than saving a robot." The words feel like blasphemy of the highest order, not only towards Price, but to Ghost as well.
The look in the Captain's eyes makes him feel even worse, but Soap needs to make sure none of them suspect a thing.
"Of course." Price exhales slowly, the pity in his eyes a familiar sight. "Go on and prepare for a quest, we will meet at the Tear walls. Ghost, keep an eye on him alright?"
"Understood." Ghost finally moves, stopping beside Soap, waiting for more orders.
Soap leaves for his armour stand, unable to ignore the thudding of metal steps behind him. His foremost goal is not to finish the quest, like it has been every single day of his life for nearly two decades.
No, his goal is to break through Ghost, and make sure he keeps his promise. Not because he is owed answers.
But because Soap simply cannot accept another loss.
Excerpt from John "Soap" MacTavish's journal, page 29 ("GARY SANDERSON"):
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Can you imagine my last semester of my entire degree is like, really hard and time-consuming? Because it is. It's taking up almost all of my free time.
Anyway I was working on my anatomy (yet again), this time I actually took an online course on it, and it finally feels like it's getting through my thick skull! I decided to draw Soap and Gaz (in their Cyberknights AU designs) because I miss drawing them :(
Necromechanic - Chapter 1: Only the Sons of Eden Bleed
[AO3]
Finally, after 84 years, I'm ready to post the first chapter of the Cyberknights AU...
First things first, I have a good backlog for this fic (unlike my other ones where I posted as I finished writing) so I will be posting chapters every Sunday until I run out! I'll try to do it at the same hour, but it will def be on Sunday.
Thank you to Drake and Draconian_Dream for helping me beta this work, and for @mysticeclipses for listening to me whine about the parts that were hard for me to write lol, please check their work if you got time, they're all wonderful!
Also for this one, I suggest reading on AO3 because I'm able to play with the formatting more there (fonts for the most part), but I'll be posting here as well.
One last thing, each chapter will have a sketch from Soap's journal in-universe, to help visualise some of the monsters and characters in the fic. You do not need to have any knowledge of COD zombies lore before reading this fic (Drake and Draconian_Dream made sure that it'll be clear for everyone) and those sketches are part of that effort to let everyone understand it equally.
Alright, enough talking, let's get to the chapter itself!
SYSTEM DIAGNOSTICS RUNNING… NO ERRORS FOUND
AETHERIUM INHIBITOR STATUS: NORMAL
CURRENT LOCATION: 52.056°N 2.716°W
CURRENT OBJECTIVE: AWAITING ORDERS
"Say 'Soap'."
"Soap."
"Great! Now call me Soap."
"You do not have permissions to change names registered in the database, Sir MacTavish. Only the Captain is allowed to make changes."
Soap groans, "I swear yer doing it on purpose just to me, Ghostie."
"Negative." the robotic bastard replies. He'll get him one day.
Soap sighs, leaning against the wall. He's been trying to trick Ghost into breaking a few of his rules for days now, mostly out of boredom. They both know that it's a futile endeavour, but it's not like the robot can feel annoyed, or leave for that matter.
His eyes glance at him, the violet wires that peak between his armour plates. He still doesn't understand the technology behind him, and he'd love to pore over the schematics behind his design, but his manufacturer, J.S. Systems, was quite adamant to keep Ghost's a secret. He supposes that's fair, with how much the Order hides as well.
A light flashes near Ghost's temple, making him turn towards the tear walls. Soap perks up, since that usually means that…
"Cap's callin'?"
"Affirmative. The squad is being deployed."
"Finally, let's get to it!" Soap tries to jump to his feet, only for his left leg to nearly buckle. Ghost reaches his arm to steady him, but he bats it away, "I'm fine, c'mon!"
They begin making their way through the halls, Soap nearly running after Ghost's long strides. Knights unfortunate enough to be on their way jump back, attempting to avoid being rammed by what Soap can only estimate is about 30 stones of metal, and 12 stones of muscle. Tall archways give way to open skies, the bright sun unable to match the unearthly glow of the Aether tears lining the walls.
Soap discreetly shakes his leg, the tightness around his knee ebbing somewhat as he's approached by Kyle, which already makes tightness around his head kickstart again.
"You're late again." Kyle, or as the rest call him, Gaz grouses. "I'm beginning to think Ghost isn't doing his job being your babysitter."
Ghost isn't his steamin' babysitter, but the robot can't really object considering his programming. As for Soap, well…
Soap plasters a fake smile on his face, "aye, had to make sure to fuck up the weapons and armour as well, if I'm already being a nuisance, I'm not gonna do it half-arsed."
He didn't expect that to make Gaz any happier, and it didn't, his eye twitching with irritation, "still don't get what the Captain sees in you, MacTavish."
"Must be my bright personality and hilarious jokes." He mutters. Gaz huffs and turns away to continue inscribing glyphs on the wall, the markings his gauntlet leaves emit a low light. Soap begins feeling tingles travel up his nape, signalling the rise in levels of Aetherium, that which corrupts all living to do the bidding of the Aether's malignant sovereigns.
It makes an iron-like taste cover his tongue, excitement running through his veins. As much as it denotes evil, Aetherium smells like home to him. The only home he has left, after…
Flashes of pain climb up his left leg, though these aren't from any physical condition. Teeth-lined maws slash his flesh, rip his armour apart as if it was paper-thin, and the lights, the sounds, a screaming in his head he could not silence-
"Soap, Gaz, everyone ready?"
Soap inhales deeply, noticing for the first time that the Captain joined them. In his hands are two helms, and Soap winces as he notices one of them is his. Must've forgotten it in his hurry to the tear walls.
"In one moment… Done!" Gaz retreats from the wall, a ripple in the air signifying the tear is ready. Soap may not get along with him, but it's clear the knight has a talent when it comes to anything concerning the Aether. Nobody opens Aether tears as fast as Kyle Garrick.
"Good." Price gives Soap an assessing look, one which he wants to snarl at. He knows what those eyes are looking for, and he hopes they don't find it.
Soap only grins in return, "let's go already, we've been sitting around for long enough!"
Price nods, and Soap privately lets out a sigh of relief. Passed the test once again. "Alright, helms up. Ghost, run checks on the oxygen tanks."
"Copy, running diagnostics…" Ghost answers with an even more robotic voice, if that's possible, "diagnostics complete, all systems operational."
Price throws Soap his helmet, a coppery metal adorned with a red mohawk, and Soap begins the process of equipping it and attaching the tubes that run along his back to the front of the helm. The switch between fresh air to artificial always makes him gasp at first, until his lungs become used to the stale oxygen that is filtered again and again through the tank.
Gaz and Price do the same, and they all step forth towards the Aether tear. "What are we to do today, Captain?" Gaz asks, his helm glowing a dim blue.
"Got a few stragglers getting a bit too close to the walls surrounding Croatia, we'll split into two groups to cover more ground. Should be a simple quest, as long as we don't take unnecessary risks." That last part was definitely directed at Soap, but he pretends like he didn't notice that.
"Awaiting orders, Captain."
"Stick with Soap, Watchers reported a few mimics in the area so stay alert for those."
"Understood." Ghost takes his place behind Soap, ready to follow him into the tear.
Anticipation bubbles within him as Price switches their communication channels on, "entering Aether tear in 5."
Soap starts the countdown in his heart, their squad getting a running start towards the tear, heavy boots thudding on stone floors, and a thrill comes over him, as he reaches for the purple light of the tear.
The world melts. The familiar swooping of his stomach greets him, as they're instantly transported miles away from the English Order's fort. His feet land on barren grass, a yellowish haze settling in the air.
'Welcome back', the Lost Lands whisper to him. Soap smiles, his grin hidden by the helm.
Soap kicks at another rock on the uneven road. It hits a guardrail with a satisfying clank, but to his dismay, nothing comes out to attack them.
The Croatian walls stand tall on their right, an imposing monument of concrete higher than any building he's ever been in. The ruins beside it suggest this has once been a bustling town, shop signs and stalls barely recognizable under years of grime and rain, but these days nearly nothing of what this place once was remains.
No people, no animals, not even the undead shuffling around here.
"I'm beginning to think Price sent us this way because he knew there will be no zombies." Soap grumbles, finding a different thing to kick.
"Scans of the area show signs of recent Aether-form activity, Sir MacTavish. Contact is expected in the next five to seven minutes." Ghost says, his central processing unit giving off all sorts of noises and lights as he surveys the land.
Soap's boot hits an empty can, "that's what ye said five minutes ago."
"Incorrect. That was three minutes and twenty eight seconds ago."
Despite his mounting frustrations, Soap can't help but chuckle, "didn't know they updated you with a sense of humour."
He gets a good angle on the can, managing to knock it into an alley ahead of them. It crashes into something there, and Ghost grabs his shoulder to stop his movement. He doesn't ask him why. The answer reveals itself soon enough.
A deep growl emanates from the alley, followed by a chorus of gurgling screams.
"Seems like you were right as always, Ghostie!" Soap laughs, his hands wrapping around the handles of his swords and pulling them out of their scabbards.
Ghost didn't reply, instead closing the distance to the first zombie in a flash, a knife buried in the undead's throat faster than he could blink. The blade glows violet and dislodges itself from the still corpse, returning to the robot's hand by command. Five more knives join it, sending a hailstorm of daggers at the horde.
Not wanting to be left behind, Soap jumped into the fray, his twin blades whirling, swiftly slicing through rotten flesh and withering bones.
As the blackened blood of zombies coated his swords, their imbued power activates, and sparks break free from the metal. Fire to his left, and ice to his right. The Aetherium flows through them into his armour, and Soap feels his swings strengthening.
The resulting commotion awakens the rest of the undead in the nearby area, and before long a horde began to form, Ghost and Soap in its centre, the eye of the storm.
Soap recognizes a bottle-neck forming at the entrance of the alleyway. The still bodies are building up into a blockade, making the steady stream of zombies trickle. They need to move.
"Keep an eye on this side, I'm moving ahead!" Soap shouts over comms, running past him.
Ghost throws a knife at the zombie blocking Soap's way, "Understood."
Dancing around another walking corpse, Soap uses a skip bin to vault over the horde, landing onto an unsuspecting zombie and slicing his neck. The horde then splits, and Soap grunts as he's met with the brute force of about 50 decaying humans. His armour keeps their teeth away from his flesh, but it doesn't protect him from the potential of getting dog piled.
At the edges of his vision, he sees the meter of his Field Talent nearing full. Soap entertains the thought of using it for a moment, but disregards it in the next.
Don't take unnecessary risks, Price's voice reminds him.
He pulls back, dodging rotting teeth, before slicing the horde in full force, uncaring for the decapitated heads slamming to the ground behind him. His world narrows to the next cut, moves planned three steps ahead, motions which are ingrained into his very bones.
Dozens of zombies have to be slayed before he catches a glimpse of Ghost. The robot whirls, precisely throwing his knives at the undead, each hitting directly at the centre of their head. It's nearly frightening, how perfectly calculated his every move is. Distracting, in it's morbid beauty.
Brutal, in the way Ghost disappears from view in a blink, and slams him into the wall at the next.
"Fuck-!" Soap grunts as his body collides with the wall. His breath knocked out of him, leg screaming in pain, he barely registers the sounds of struggle, dark spots flickering across his vision. It takes him far too long to realise what he's seeing in front of him, and it is no less confusing once he does.
The mimic is the first thing he notices. Large body, larger maw, the heads and limbs of several once-humans grafted together and held by Aetherium. One bite, and you'd be dead before you even comprehended that the unassuming cardboard box you walked past was a monster in disguise.
The second was Ghost, his legs floating above ground. Soap's eyes trail his shivering form, up to his chest, where the mimic has stabbed Ghost with one of its spiked claws.
And the third, and most confusing of all, is the blood. Dark, bubbling, dripping from Ghost's chest. It couldn't be, because robots don't bleed, and that would mean that- That Ghost isn't-
Ghost grunts, hands uselessly trying to remove the claws digging at his insides, struggling against the snapping jaws of the mimic.
Soap blinks, eyes dragging back to Ghost's face. To the blood dripping between the slats there, where his mouth would be, were he-
It hits him. Ghost is alive, because robots can't bleed.
And if he's alive, that means that he can die… He's going to die.
"S-Soap…" Ghost speaks, his voice glitching, and Soap's heart skips a beat at the name, his chosen name.
"Run."
Excerpt from John "Soap" MacTavish's journal, page 12 ("MIMIC"):
