Chapter Text
“What the...” Soap trails off, gun lowering and eyes widening.
“Fuck.” Ghost finishes for him, eyes glaring and hands gripping his own gun, but aiming at no one in particular.
“What’s going on? Ghost? How copy, Ghost? Soap?” Laswell sounds like she’s sounded all night; unusually too worried in their abilities to get one little recon mission done.
Ghost holds in a scoff as he turns away from the glass container, gritting his teeth as he speaks into his earpiece. “You said this was recon for a fucking weapon, not a rescue mission.” He doesn’t give her time to answer when he grunts out, “Who’s the girl?”
Laswell can be heard letting out a small sigh of relief before she curiously asks, “Is she breathing?”
“Not a fucking clue.” Ghost replies as he turns and makes eye contact with Johnny—who turns and shrugs his own reply. “What’s going on, Kate?”
Soap barely can hold himself back from asking, “And where the hell is the Captain—really?”
“Look, I told you it was recon, because it was. I didn’t think we’d actually get lucky enough to find her on the first attempt.” Laswell doesn’t waste time as she then says, “Price will tell you where he was when he returns tomorrow night. Right now, I need you both to get rid of anyone else there and bring the subject back to base, pronto. That’s an order. Do you both copy?”
Ghost shoots Johnny a glare to keep his mouth shut. Then, himself, is saying, “Subject... You mean, ‘the hostage’?”
He doesn’t like the pause the follows.
Laswell then sounds very clearly warning when she says, “If she is conscious, make her unconscious, otherwise you won’t be getting out of there alive.”
Ghost finally does scoff, then, says, “There’s only two out of the thirty left. They’re not even soldiers. They’re mercenaries; the way they were scrambling around like headless chickens.”
Soap can’t help smirking to himself at the memory from just minutes ago.
They really were the most unprepared load of idiots he’s ever had the hilarious pleasure of dealing with. He wonders why Laswell is so worried.
“But copy that. Moving in to secure the girl now.” Ghost finally takes a breath to steady his annoyance, then, turns and walks cautiously towards the glass container.
It’s horizontal, the girl lying seemingly unconscious in her glass coffin.
Her skin is pale. Her hair is jet black, or what little of it is there with her buzzcut, which looks oddly fresh. She smells like fucking bleach and it makes his nose burn behind his mask. The dark blue tracksuit she wears is tight fitting and also smells like bleach. He tries to ignore it, but not as much as he tries to ignore the stupid nanosecond jump of his heart at one of the most beautiful faces he’s ever seen.
Plump pink lips, smooth flawless skin. High cheek bones. Perfectly rounded soft face. It’s like she’s been carved by God himself...if Ghost believed such bullshit.
There is a small IV bag that Ghost gently pulls out of her arm after he and Soap have lifted the glass lid off and placed it quietly down on the ground. She doesn’t wake up as Ghost lifts her up over his shoulder.
“Lead the way, Johnny.”
“I have to make a call. BRB.” Laswell mutters, her comms then going silent.
They manage to make it three corridors over, almost reaching the way they broke in through the skylight, the rope still hanging there, just in sight for them.
Ghost hears the men’s voices even before Soap silently halts him by holding up his fist.
The voices sound like a lot more men left than he originally thought.
Fuck, he thinks as he quickly starts looking around for somewhere to stash the girl safely until he and Soap deal with this.
Soap turns to him and uses their squad’s hand signals to tell him he’s going round to ambush them from the back—after watching Ghost carefully place the girl under one of the wooden crates (with a slightly amused, but endeared smile.)
Soap then makes his way silently through the crates.
”—fucking bullshit. I don’t owe you shit!” One voice bellows in bitter anger.
Another smugly answers, “You do if you don’t want me to fuck your wife...again.”
Two other voices join in with the smug voice’s laughter.
“Fuck yo—“
“Quiet.” The last voice—quiet, but very firm—demands suddenly.
Ghost grips his weapon, knowing they’ve somehow been made even before that same voice says through gritted teeth, “You two, fuckface and dickchin, go check on the girl. You three useless assholes, with me.”
Ghost hears one set of footsteps shuffling off quickly. He peaks out from his hiding space, watching the one that’s clearly the leader pointing in opposite directions before the other two fan out.
Ghost doesn’t know how the fuck this asshole even knows there’s someone here. They haven’t reached the room he and Soap took the girl from since they took her yet, so how the—
“Fuck.” Ghost grunts in anger at himself when he looks back up and sees all three now have disappeared from his sight.
He glances over his shoulder, making sure the girl is still safe, sighs, and then, makes his way silently after Johnny.
And only 10 seconds later, he’s running after Johnny when he hears him yelling along with multiple firing gunshots, and the bastard doesn’t reply when Ghost asks him if he’s good.
He almost misses it. Almost doesn’t see the man darting out from between the stacked metal crates, handgun pointed at him at the ready. Ghost smacks the man’s hand upwards, the shot firing up into the air just in time. He doesn’t waste a second as he then grips the man’s wrist and uses it to yank him forward, his free hand dropping his automatic rifle and trading it for the hunting knife he sticks straight into the man’s heart.
He wipes off the blood on the man’s shitty looking cheap black suit, sheathing the blade as he watches the lifeless body sag at his feet. He grips his rifle again, swirling around on the spot and checking for any other hidden enemies that might attack.
He barely takes a breath then as someone behind him slowly claps.
Ghost swirls around to find the leader, not dressed in a suit like the other mercenaries, but instead, wearing the same tight blue tracksuit as the girl he is trying to rescue. Though, his looks more lived in, whereas the girl’s looks brand new and only just put on.
Ghosts eyes him, looking as neutral as always, but feeling more cautious than he’s even felt, for some odd reason. The guy seems unhinged almost, as he grins widely, almost maniacal in his excitement, but that’s not what bothers Ghost. He’s dealt with crazier arseholes.
“And who are you supposed to be?” The guy asks, chuckling lightly before adding, “Trick or treating was over with Halloween last month, non?” He says, French accent thicker when he taunts, like he’s just having too much fun and forgets himself.
Ghost is excellent at reading people and most people even meeting him just in passing are pretty much terrified of him if they don’t know him all that well.
But this guy...
For the first time in a long time, Ghost is surprised. His eyes widen, just a fraction, but they still widen in shock when the guy seems to move so fast in front of him that he fucking blurs.
The next thing Ghost feels is the hard elbow to his chest that sends him flying back at speeds of which he doesn’t even know how he doesn’t break a single bone.
Ghost groans quietly, tries, but fails for a moment in his dizziness to pull himself back up onto his feet. He hears then Johnny yelling a fuck ye! a few crate blocks away before another load of gunfire erupts. He worries that this fucker has called for backup.
The guy clearly sees this in his eyes. Smirks and says, “If they don’t kill him, I will. But after I kill you, La Mort {Death}.” He chuckles, now clearly finding Ghost’s mask hilariously ironic.
Which Ghost also then begins to think when he lunges right up for the guy and is grabbed by the throat, shoved up against the nearest stack of metal crates and held in place like a little (bitch) rag doll being manheld by a child!
His eyes widen again as the guy uses his free hand to bend the end of his rifle (like a piece of fucking liquorice candy) before ripping the handgun from his belt and holding it up to his chest, aiming right over his heart.
Ghost freezes for the moment. Thinking a million miles a second for ways to escape and kill this psycho. Eyes calm and focused on the guy’s dull but shiny crazed eyes.
“Oh, you and your friend have no idea of what you’ve walked into tonight, have you?” The guy taunts.
Ghost doesn’t answer. Glares calmly at him.
“Well, whatever. More fool you.” The guy shrugs his shoulders. Then, lifts the gun and aims it right over Ghost’s left eye. Calmly says, “Now, before I shoot you in the face, you’re going to tell me who you work for, La Mort. You and your pretty blue-eyed friend, you’re going to sing to me, huh?”
“More of a dancer, really.” Ghost finally replies, voice raspy and firm and calm as always. He bites back a smirk, even if the guy can’t see behind the mask as Ghost cockily adds, “Let me go and watch how well I do it.”
The guy laughs, clear fake delight on his face when he then shoots Ghost a sarcastic look and says, “Ah, you’re a clown boy, huh? Then, I think you need to change the mask.”
Ghost can’t help letting go of a stuttered laugh when the guy punches him in the stomach. He knows when he’s hit a nerve. Now, he just needs to figure out what that nerve was so he can hit it again.
The guy steps back and Ghost grabs the gun and his wrist in one split second, using the annoyed distraction he caused. And if this guy that’s built like a lean twig, but somehow packs the punch of a guy three times Ghost’s size was a normal fucking human in any way, Ghost obviously would have bested him and shot him in the fucking face by now.
Instead, the little fucker uses Ghost’s grip on him to yank him in before planting a fucking Spartan kick to his chest. Ghost goes flying back again, this time, letting out a loud groan as he feels at least one or two ribs cracking against the concrete pillar.
The guy advances on him, gun aimed at the ready and finger almost pulling down on the trigger. Before Ghost can even think to move, a shot rings through the air and the guy curses loud before retreating for the closest stack of crates.
Ghost quickly moves just before the fucker aims and shoots at him as well as in the opposite direction, where Johnny suddenly comes storming out with his rifle. Ghost dives behind Johnny, who covers him as they make their way back across the room towards where Ghost left the girl.
His heart stops when he sees her missing from the spot he left her in. And it’s more (worse) than just feeling like he failed a mission. He doesn’t know why he already gives a personal shit about her safety. He just does.
But before he can say anything to Johnny about it, that little lean fucker is charging out of the shadows and barging his tiny frame into Ghost’s twice as large one. Still, Ghost easily goes ploughing into the nearest smaller stacks of wooden crates, splinters flying all around him.
In the next moment, Johnny has the rifle grabbed from his hand and the butt smacked into his face twice. He sags to his knees. Earning only another smack to the face with his rifle.
Ghost grabs his knife from its sheath and charges silently. Comes up behind the fucker, his ears ringing twice as hard when he only receives a headbutt to the nose, and then, an elbow to the gut. He stumbles back just as the guy shoves Johnny to the ground face-first, and then, turns to face him with a sneer.
“Et puis merde. {Fuck this.} You die now.” He snarls, clearly now over with playing around.
Ghost readies himself to dodge and hope for the fucking best when the twig lifts aims Ghost’s own handgun at him.
And just as Ghost sees Johnny quietly (but slowly with his bleeding forehead and nose and busted up left eye) edge towards his rifle, flung just feet from where he’d been left sprawled out...
...The guy suddenly disappears.
Or, more accurately, another, smaller, paler blur suddenly speeds passed out of nowhere and barges right into the twig.
Johnny, like Ghost is frozen for a moment. Mostly in confusion as they glance around, trying to find out just what the fuck that was.
Twig goes flying, much like he made Ghost fly those couple of times. Crashes into one of the metal crates with enough force to have them tumble down on top of him. Essentially burying the fucker.
Ghost knows better than to assume, however, that he’s dead. Not until he checks for himself.
Laswell is definitely getting an earful for this bollocks, he thinks.
Though, his sour mood runs quickly dry when he sees just what caused the destruction.
The girl.
Standing there.
Just feet from him.
Eyes dark and wild, making his heart jump.
Shit, he thinks when she glances briefly at him like she heard it.
Ghost clears his throat, doesn’t move a muscle, except to calmly ask, “Soap, you still with me?”
He sees Johnny give him a thumbs up before watching the man slowly but surely drag himself back up onto his feet. Watches him tenderly touch his already madly swollen left eye and busted top lip.
Watches the boy then approach the girl with a tender smile that Ghost wishes he was still capable of. Listens to him calmly and carefully say, “Thank you for helping us. We’ve actually come here to help you escape. Does that sound OK?”
Now that he knows Johnny is really OK (just a bit banged up), Ghost gives the girl his full attention. Silent, but watching her closely (keenly.)
She’s quiet for a moment. Glances around at her surroundings. Glares down at the clothes she’s wearing after rolling her eyes at the pile of smashed crates burying the Twig.
She looks between Ghost and Soap then, almost smiles—and even that tiny hint of nothing but understanding of the situation makes Simon’s heart do flips that make his fucking legs restless (which hasn’t happened since he was a young teenager.)
Her smile drops, and so does Ghost’s stomach a little (what the fuck is wrong with him?), her eyes widening in shock and horror as they focus on something behind Soap...
“Oh, what the FUCK?!”
Ah, Ghost sees the mirror before she darts around Johnny and stares at her reflection in the nearby window.
“They shaved my fucking head!”