The Toy Box

The morning sun cut through the military compound's fences, but the air still carried the chill of covert warfare. Hours after the intense classified briefing, John Wayne stood once again in General Marcus Bennett's office — a quiet moment between a young commander and the man who had given him both power and burden.

"We won't be needing the transport," John said simply, hands behind his back.

Bennett didn't blink. He merely took a long breath, then gave a single nod, as if expecting it all along.

"Very well."

No questions. No arguments. Just acceptance.

That was the thing about Marcus Bennett. He understood that men like John — quiet, decisive, and calculating — didn't speak unless every word had weight behind it.

John turned and left the office without another word.

Inside the underground parking of the compound, his car waited.

A midnight black Ford Mustang GT with angular lines, LED streaked headlights, and a guttural roar that belonged more to 2025 than 1996. It was sleek, alien in the landscape of boxy sedans and clunky trucks.

He slid into the driver's seat and started the engine. The growl echoed like thunder in the garage.

John never intended for his personal cars to hit the market — not yet. The technology was too far ahead. In a world only just beginning to experiment with fuel injection and safety computers, his Mustang was a ship from the future.

He tapped the phone he had given to his squad earlier and dialed.

First Soap.

Then Price.

"Wayne Industries. Meet me in the lobby. I'll explain there."

"Copy," came Price's voice, measured and curious.

Soap's voice was more animated. "You got secrets, mate. I like that."

John smiled faintly and ended the call.

Wayne Industries – Los Angeles

The building towered like a titan in the skyline — modern, minimalist, and out of place for the era. Steel ribs curved upward into glass, and everything screamed innovation that hadn't been invented yet.

John walked through the glass doors into the lobby, where Soap and Price were already waiting. Soap wore a bomber jacket and jeans, looking like a tourist. Price was in civilian gear too, though he still carried himself like he was in uniform.

They both turned when they saw him.

"Damn," Soap said, whistling as he took in the lobby. "This place makes MI6 look like a community center."

Price gave a low grunt of approval. "Clean. Quiet. Private."

"Gentlemen," John greeted, nodding once. "Follow me."

They exchanged nods with Lewis, John's assistant, who sat behind a chrome reception desk typing away.

"Good to see you again, Ms. Lewis," Price offered politely.

She smiled. "Always a pleasure, Captain Price. Lieutenant MacTavish."

They entered a private elevator at the back, one that required John's fingerprint and a rotating cipher code to activate.

Soap raised an eyebrow. "You keeping nuclear codes down here or something?"

"Better," John replied.

The elevator began to descend. Down. Further down than any public floor of the building had a right to go.

When it finally stopped, the doors opened with a hiss.

And the two war-hardened soldiers froze.

The hallway that stretched before them glowed with sterile white light and transparent display screens. Past reinforced glass walls were vehicles, unlike anything they had ever seen — one resembled a cross between a combat drone and a motorcycle. Another looked like an armored car designed for space.

Soap stepped forward slowly. "What in the bloody hell…"

John led them through two sets of blast-proof security doors, both opened by biometric scans. Inside the final chamber, the lights dimmed slightly as they entered what looked like a massive private vault crossed with a futuristic armory.

Gleaming black racks lined the walls, each filled with prototype firearms: gauss rifles, rail-loaded pistols, and sleek drones folded like origami sculptures.

"This," Lewis said as she joined them, "is what we call The Toy Box."

Price's eyes narrowed. "Toy box?"

"Everything here is either under development or prepared for future release to military and civilian sectors," she explained. "Designed by one man. Just hasn't been released yet."

She turned and smiled at John.

"Let me guess," Soap said, staring at the walls. "You built all this?"

John didn't look at him. He walked over to a metal crate on a platform and placed a black, rectangular case on top.

"I only build what I need," he said quietly.

"Jesus," Price muttered. "You're not just leading this team. You're arming it for the next war."

Soap's attention was pulled back to John as he flipped open the black case.

Inside were two sleek, dark metallic earbuds resting in charging slots.

"They look like earbuds," Soap said, confused.

"They are," John said, "but not the kind you're thinking."

He picked up one of the devices.

"These are called Holobuds. They're part communications device, part illusion tech. It uses a facial projection algorithm — mapping light and structure to the user's body and skin tone — to alter appearance in real time."

Price blinked. "So it... changes your face?"

"Exactly. From two feet away, no one would question what they're seeing. It also encrypts our comms on an undetectable frequency. No tapping. No tracking. No leaks."

Soap picked one up, twisting it between his fingers. "Bloody hell, John… this is the kind of thing sci-fi movies don't even have yet."

"We were planning to release the first prototype for bidding next year," Lewis added, walking over. "But John thought we could use the mission to collect performance data for field testing. Real-world feedback."

John gave her a meaningful look. "No better advertisement than 'tested behind enemy lines.'"

She smirked.

He cleared his throat. "Lewis, I'll need four commercial airline tickets. All going east. Different times. Different agencies. Spread out the departures."

Lewis nodded, already making mental calculations. "You got it. Anything else?"

John thought for a moment. "I need a bar. Something inconspicuous near the target city. Something we can set up as a tourist stop."

"I know just the place," she said. "My cousin runs a hostel bar near a historical site. Mostly visited by foreigners."

"Perfect."

She was already jotting the details into her notebook.

"I also need the plane prepped — the personal one," John added.

Lewis looked up. "You're leaving ahead of them?"

John nodded. "I'll scout the city and handle the logistics before they arrive."

Soap frowned. "You sure that's safe? Going in alone?"

"It's safer than all of us walking through an airport looking like a four-man tactical squad. Spread arrivals makes us harder to profile."

Price grunted. "He's right."

John turned to Lewis again. "Have the private jet ready within 24 hours. I'll depart ahead of schedule. They'll follow on staggered flights. Use the blood fund to handle the purchases in-country."

"You're not using it for gear?"

John smirked faintly. "We're bringing our own toys."

Lewis smiled. "Understood."

The group walked out of the Toy Box together. Soap couldn't stop glancing back at the vault as the security doors sealed shut behind them.

"Mate," he said, nudging John with a grin. "I think I just fell in love with your company."

Price gave a rare smile. "He's not building a business. He's building an empire."

John said nothing.

He didn't need to.

He had already planned three steps ahead.

As they emerged back into the daylight, the world outside continued on — blissfully unaware that Death was preparing to cross the ocean.

And it would wear a different face when it arrived.