Chapter Text
It’s been months since Soap joined Price’s small research team in the Antarctic. The frigid chill has become an every day part of his life, nothing more than an inconvenience bent on keeping him miserable. But, he can forgive that. With the opportunity to study with Price’s exclusive expedition, he would freeze into an ice cube for all he cared.
Soap has been chasing an elusive leopard seal since he got here, unable to keep it in his sights long enough to tag it. His PhD is at stake, hanging on the balance of observing the behaviors and hunting habits of the aggressive seal species in their natural habitat. If he can just tag the big bastard, he can start collecting his much needed data on the leucistic seal. Wants to see if his unique coloration affects his daily life. He’s a beautiful oddity, not a dark speck marring his pure white pelt. No other researcher has been able to tag him, but Soap is determined.
Soap sighs as he rests his elbows against the wheel of the LARC-V he’s piloting, solo aside from the two rigid inflatable boats that tail him from a reasonable distance, formed in a wide V formation. He’d prefer to do this on his own, to keep from spooking the seal, but it’s foolish to navigate the seas on his own. If anything were to happen, he would die in minutes in these waters.
He cuts his engine and signals for the RIBs to do the same when he spies the grey arch of a seal’s body breaking the surface. His Ghost — what he’s taken to calling his slippery mark — isn’t in sight just yet, but where other leopard seals are hunting, he’s not far behind.
Ghost is the epitome of his species — big, aggressive, likes to use his teeth against anything that comes against him. He’s covered from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail in faded pink scars. Quite the fighter.
Soap watches with a pair of binoculars, keeping his distance for now. Usually Ghost will bully any leopard seals out of his way, catch his food, then dart away to wherever he has his well hidden den to eat in peace.
The minutes tick by like sludge, but Soap is patient. He has his tranq gun next to him, ready with a mild sedative to knock the seal out. Not much, only enough to keep Ghost drowsy so he can hook the tracker to his back flipper. He’s tried every other method he could think of already, leaving him with no other option.
“On your six, Soap,” his radio crackles to life on his hip.
Heart in his throat, Soap whips around to see his Ghost breach the surface as he chases after a terrified penguin. The seal is purposefully nudging his prey away from the boats, jaws snapping at its feet to keep it moving. He enjoys a good chase.
Soap knows his window is short. They won’t see him in the same place again, always moving so the researchers can’t keep tabs on his whereabouts. He rests his gun on the back of the LARC and holds his breath.
Come on, you beautiful beast…
The seal lunges out of the water, leaping to snatch the penguin up as it tries to clamber onto a slab of ice.
Soap takes the shot.
He thinks he’s missed for a moment, when he sees the bright red tuft against the white fur of Ghost’s neck. Soap’s head snaps up and he pumps his fist into the air, cheering his victory.
“Got him!” he whoops.
The seal turns its head and glares at Soap, dark eyes narrowed and angry at having been captured by the researcher. He flops onto the ice and starts to galumph away on his belly, but the sedative makes quick work of slowing him down. By the time Ghost has stilled, eyes nearly closed, Soap and his fellow researcher, Gaz, are kneeling down next to him.
Soap is beside himself, giddy to see the massive seal up close.
“Oh, he’s amazing!” he coos as he trails his gloved hand down the sleek, furred back. “Look at him, Kyle! I’ve never seen a leopard seal so beautiful!”
Ghost lifts his head, fighting the tranq with all he’s got. His jaws open to reveal his sharp teeth.
“Quite the fighter too. Come on John, no time to lose. Tag him before he shakes it off.”
Soap rips his pack off and digs out the temple tag and feeder he’s been saving just for this occasion. If they put a regular tracker on Ghost, it will shed off with his next molt. Soap knows he’ll never get another chance if that happens. He wants to keep tabs on Ghost as long as he can.
Quick and practiced, he punches the large needle through Ghost’s back flipper and clips the GPS tracker into place. An injection of antibiotics, just to be safe, and Gaz is rushing back to the boats.
“Come on!”
“Just a second, I want to make sure he wakes up properly! Be there in a minute!”
It’s risky. He could easily observe Ghost from his LARC, but he wants to be absolutely sure the seal doesn’t have any complications from the sedative. Gaz shrugs and boards his boat, radioing to Price that Soap will join them shortly.
“Sorry big guy…” Soap murmurs. “The pain won’t last long. You’re a tough lad though, I’m sure this is nothing.”
Ghost grunts as if he understands Soap. The seal turns a sleepy eye to the researcher and sneezes at him, miffed at the indignity of it all.
Soap knows what it feels like to be tagged. He refused to do anything to an animal that he’s never endured. The sharp pinch of the feeding needle as it cuts through flesh is largely unpleasant, but bearable. He’d kept the tracker on his hand for a few days, just to see what it felt like. His fellow researchers had a grand time tracking his movements, constantly texting him, asking how his trip to the loo was, if he had a nice nap in the bunkhouse, or that they found out he was the one eating Price’s hidden stash of crisps at 2AM.
The skin between his thumb and index finger still has a little circular scar from where it healed.
Soap watches the seal, heart still singing over what kind of data they’d be able to collect from Ghost. He crouches down out of biting range and takes his glove off. Ghost’s fur is wet and cold, but dense and slightly oily to the touch. Soap traces a scar along his ribs, wondering how many fights the big male has gotten into to be so covered.
The seal grunts his disapproval and opens his mouth again, swinging sluggishly around to try to bite Soap. The researcher scoots out of the way and chuckles, pulling his glove back on.
“Sorry, mate. No more touching, I promise.”
Ghost’s chin hits the ice with a soft plap and he fucking rolls his eyes!
Soap gapes at the seal and laughs. There’s no way! “You did not!”
Ghost blinks and does it again.
“Aren’t you cheeky?” Soap chuckles, in absolute awe of the seal.
With a warning rumble, Ghost lifts his head fully into the air and snaps in Soap's direction. He catches the elbow of Soap’s bright blue coat before he can scramble away, and tears a large hole in the sleeve.
“Guess I deserved that!” Soap all but yelps as he scrambles to grab his bag and makes a break for his LARC. The spikes on his boots give him plenty of traction, but he slips on his knees rather gracefully until he can get his footing.
The researcher is out of there, checking over his shoulder to see Ghost lazily roll onto his back, still working out the last of the sedative, and watches with amusement in his far too human-like gaze.
As Soap hooks the thick chain over the entrance to his boat, he gives Ghost a final glance. He grins when the seal gives his tummy one loud slap with his flippers, before sliding off the side of the pack ice, and disappears from sight.
Excited, Soap checks his tracker and sees the signal coming in strong. Perfect!
Once back at their base, Soap tears past Price and Gaz and starts his laptop up on the break room counter. Yes, good! The paths that Ghost has taken in the last hour are clearly mapped out, updating every fifteen seconds with a new blip along the meandering line.
And then suddenly stops. Soap frowns and refreshes the page a couple times, before an error pops up on his screen — “Signal Lost”. The connection is dead, which only means one thing…
His tracker was destroyed.
“FUCK!”