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The air that had been filling my lungs finally released itself in a small shaky exhale, one I didn't even realize I'd been holding since I stepped into his office, or more so since Gaz told me the Captain needed to see me. My body slightly relaxed as my heart began to slow and pump at a normal rhythm, the fog from fear slowly began to vanish, much like the clouds of tobacco Price blew out, the rich aroma of his cigar continued to fill the room. At least I'm not fucking dead.

As his words settled in my eyebrows knit together tightly, and a slight perplexed look spread across my features. Yes, me and Ghost had a slight mishap, yes he slapped me, but we were sparring. My reaction perhaps was a little dramatic, but only because it had resurfaced memories I so desperately tried to keep locked in the past, a small metal box in the pits of my mind, the key thrown away in a black abyss, never to be found again. The look of his emotionless, dead stare singed its way into my brain like branding on cattle, if only I could've seen his expression under his mask... maybe it would make sense.

I wasn't necessarily complaining, I mean, it's not like I wanted for him to keep "training" me. From any of my small, unwarranted interactions with Ghost, he didn't seem like one to lose his temper, his cool. Clearly something I said or did had triggered something inside of him. Maybe he was more than his stony exterior, something more hidden behind his mask, his facade. My lips parted slightly, almost wanting to ask what Ghost had said, at least some form of clarification to wipe my consciousness clean of these questions, but my mouth closed just as fast. 

Price continued to stare at me, taking long drags of his cigar. From the way he looked at me, he could tell I was confused, maybe not for the reason he assumed I was. He gently placed his cigar back in the crystal ashtray, sitting forward in his seat as he clasped his hands together, his elbows resting against the mahogany wood of his desk. With his lips pursed together, and slightly pulled to the side, a deep sigh emerged from his lips. "Dismissed," his rough British accent sounded, giving me one last glance and nod before motioning to the door and picking up a stack of loose paper. 

My eyes traveled down to the papers he was holding, his fingers grazing the rough edges, slowly flipping through the different pages, holding a black pen in his fist that looked comically small in comparison. Quickly his eyes flicked up to mine, his gaze telling me to get the fuck out. My stare met his and I nodded, quickly responding with "yes sir". Turning on my heel, my hand immediately found its place lightly gripping around the metal handle, a small click sound echoed through the small corridor as I turned it and stepped outside of his office, letting it close softly behind me. 

As I made my way through the compound towards my barracks my body was a canvas of pain, every movement a reminder of me getting my ass handed to me, hitting the ground time after time again. Ghost was good, I'd give him that. Bruises began to form, scattered like dark brush strokes on my tanned skin, shades of blue, purple, and black littered over various parts of my body like an oil painting. Exhaustion loomed over me, ready to swallow me whole. One would think my mind would be clouded by the aching feeling in my bones, how even trudging back to my room felt like a monumental task; but no, all my thoughts were occupied by him. By Ghost.

Somehow he had managed to infiltrate my mind, finding solace deep within it. Why couldn't I get his bitter British ass out of my thick fucking skull? My relentless search for the answer rattled through my brain. A tsunami of questions crashed into me, a riptide pulling me deep into his ocean where I found myself unable to escape the endless stream of thoughts, stuck in a raft in the middle of mind, no paddles, no flare, no call for help. Just him, consuming every fiber of me, haunting my consciousness like a ghost. 

I was unwillingly getting lost in his orbit, almost as if an invisible gravitational force had taken ahold of me, constraining me and reeling me into his dangerous forcefield. An irresistible pull, drawing me ever so close with an almost hypnotic allure, a black and white spindle set before my eyes, spinning me into a trance, a spider and its web with me trapped in the middle. A predator with sights on its prey, a lion and a gazelle. His rough accent, his burly stature, that fucking skull mask. But why? A broken record on repeat. 

Was it because I had always been attracted to danger, the unknown, like a moth to a bright flame. Or maybe it was because when he glared down at me only hours ago, behind all the fiery rage in his eyes I saw a familiar look I knew all too well. Something hidden behind the depths of his stare. But what exactly was it? My eyebrows furrowed together as I chewed at the inside of my cheeks, the flesh between my teeth dragging me out of the bottomless pit I dug myself into. He was a distraction, a problem. Maybe some questions deserved to stay that way, just questions. Not everything had to be answered. Not yet. 

-----

The door creaked softly as I pushed it forward, my combat boots clunking against the hard surface of the wooden floors as I entered into my room. The dim glow of the small lamp on the desk casted a warm light, creating an almost soothing ambiance. Slowly, I began to peel off my clothes, unzipping my cargos and pulling off my shirt, savoring the feeling of release from their constriction. The fabric rustled softly as I threw everything into a heap next to my wardrobe. 

I stared down at the bed, still fucking unmade. Groaning loudly, I grabbed the white fitted sheet, pulling it taut against the mattress and tucking it under the corners. My hands glided over the cloth, smoothing out the wrinkles and creases with a gentle touch. With a weary sigh, I collapsed down onto the bed and pulled the grey fleece blanket around my body, the comforting warmth soothing my aching bones. Soon my body drifted to sleep, and against my will, I was stuck dreaming of him. 

A light knock on my door filtered through the haze of my slumber causing me to stir, my consciousness gradually surfacing. Another round of knocks pulled me further out of my sleep before a Scottish voice completely brought me to my senses, "Y/n you were supposed to meet me an hour ago for training." My eyes shot open and fell immediately on my clock, 7:01am. "Fuck give me a second," I frantically called out as I scrambled out of bed almost tripping over my feet, the realization of my dumbassery splashed over me like freezing cold water. Of fucking course I forgot to set an alarm.

My hands fumbled against the previous day's outfit strewn around my wardrobe, with quick movements I pulled on my clothes, shifting my weight on one leg as I shoved the other through the rough fabric of my cargo pants, the knees still brown and green with dirt. As I put on my white shirt, I forced a foot into one of my combat boots before doing the same with the other. Dragging my fingers through my hair, I did my best to tame the frizz, cursing softly to myself before just tying the knots into a bun. I didn't even want to know what I must've looked like. 

This was definitely one hell of a way to wake up, any remnants of sleep were almost instantly shaken off. As I approached the door separating us my hand shot towards the handle, swinging it open and stepping outside. My eyes trailed up to Soap's slightly amused stare, "fuck sorry Soap," I breathlessly panted, my heart still thrumming hard in my chest. "The clocks here come with this cool feature you should know, an alarm," he playfully joked as he placed his hand on my shoulder, lightly shaking it. My lips curled into a small smile as I rolled my eyes, "oh, do tell."

Training with Soap was going much smoother than my training with Ghost did, we both had around the same skillset. Anytime he knocked me on my ass I'd get up and knock him on his. Speaking of Ghost, I hadn't seen him all day. Not that I cared though. "Watcha thinkin' bout lass?" Soap asked as he launched his fist as my chest, quickly I bent my knees and lowered my body, effortlessly ducking his oncoming strike. The air whizzed just above my head, inches away from connecting.

A scoff escaped my lips, "trying to distract me MacTavish?" I lightly teased as my body sprung itself back up, keeping my knees slightly bent as I evenly distributed my weight between my legs, making sure my feet were positioned shoulder-width apart. My transition between defense and offense was seamless as I brought my knee up at a 90° angle, lifting it toward my chest. Soap instinctively raised his forearms, his palms facing outwards with fingers spread apart. As my leg kicked forward, he grabbed the ball of my foot and spun me around. 

"Maybe," he responded with a small smirk, his fingers still tightly interlocked against my boot. Pivoting my other foot slightly, I had built up just enough momentum to where I could use Soap's grip to my advantage. Putting my entire body weight on my heel his grasp immediately faltered. Quickly capitalizing on his compromised state, I rotated my waist and swung my leg over his head and around his neck, the other one quickly following suit on the other side. Tightening the grip around his head between my thighs, my ankles interlocked and he quickly crumbled to the ground. 

While his head remained immobilized, a grin tugged at the corners of my mouth, "gonna have to do better than that." He let out a grunt in return, still trying to find a way out of the position I had him in. Using the little leverage he had left, he attempted to pry my thighs apart which only resulted in me strengthening my hold on him. "Fuckin' hell," he quietly cursed before tapping on my leg three times. After relishing in the moment for a few seconds more, I released the grasp I held him in and he turned over onto his side, rolling out his neck. 

My chest slightly heaved as I rose to my feet, my breaths coming out in deep, rapid waves. As my body stood upright my hands found their way to my burning thighs for support. Leaning slightly forward, I rested my palms firmly against my legs with my fingers slightly spread apart. It's been a long time since I'd done that. My gaze fell on Soap still laying sideways on the grass, a lighthearted laugh escaped my lips, "you good there Soap?" With a shaky hand he flashed a small thumbs up before dropping his arm back down on the field. 

With wobbly legs, I approached Soap and held my hand out for him to take, my sweaty palm offering support. His gaze fell from my hand back up to my face before a smile formed across his lips, "the lass has manners," he chuckled as his hand clasped strongly around mine, ensuring a stable grip before he stood up. "Shocking, right?" I retorted back with a slight eye roll before shooting a look at him, his cheeky smile and ruffled mohawk caused a small grin to tug at my lips, "might wanna fix that 'hawk."

"The ladies love it either way," Soap chimed as I began to brush my hands against my pants, dislodging loose dirt and grass from the fabric. With pinched fingers, I began to pull out the sharp green blades embedded between the cotton of my shirt, "so..." I started before trailing off chewing at my lip, I continued to pick more pieces of debris off of me, "um, have you seen Ghost around?" I asked as nonchalantly as I possibly could, avoiding eye contact as I did so. My full attention remained on cleaning off my dirtied clothes that were far past just brushing and picking at them. 

By the sudden energy shift between us I could immediately tell Soap was confused about why me of all people was worried about Ghost's whereabouts. His gaze felt heavy as his eyes studied me, how my fingers continued grasping at basically nothing, mindlessly 'cleaning' my outfit. As he rubbed his hands against his shirt he finally broke the unnecessarily prolonged silence, "not sure..." he replied as he took notice of my tense stature and body language, "that's just Ghost though," he continued while placing his hand on my shoulder, a gesture I realized he only really did to soothe others nerves. 

After forcing a laugh my eyes met his, "I was just wondering Soap," I smiled as I lightly pushed his arm. In all honesty, Soap wasn't that bad to be around, he reminded me of Blaze in a way, with his dumb humor and the lighthearted energy that surrounded him. The sun by now had began to set, its golden orb descending into the horizon as it painted the landscape around us in an amber glow. A mesmerizing palette of pinks, purples, and oranges filled the sky, fiery streaks of crimson danced among wisps of lavender clouds. 

As I glanced back over at Soap I had to stifle back a small laugh, he looked like a kid in a candy shop the way he was fascinated with the sunset, much like I was. "Nice right?" he asked, turning over to look at me once he realized I'd been staring. Nodding my head in agreement I looked back at the suns golden rays one last time, "we done for the day?" I asked, though it wasn't really much of a question as I had already begun to walk away. Soap chuckled and rolled his eyes, "yeah we can be done." Maybe I'd get along with these people better than I had previously thought. An ally, a team player, a friend. Lightly shaking my head, I scoffed to myself. That could never happen... even if a small part of me wanted it to. 

As I continued to walk away from Soap toward my barracks I heard him yell one last thing before I was completely out of earshot, "Price wanted me to tell you we leave tomorrow at 11pm for Las Almas!" The hairs on the back of my neck instantly stood up, I quickly turned around a flashed Soap a thumbs-up and reassuring smile. Whether the reassurance was for him or for me, I didn't quite know. My heart began to race. It was one thing agreeing to do something, in exchange for my life, but something else entirely actually having to do it. 

Every siren in my body told me this was a bad idea, that I should've done the "honorable" thing and died for my country. What once was a soft hum in the background of my life had quickly morphed into a cacophony of warning signals. If I was recognized wearing the Task Force 141's uniform, the unmistakable emblem patch on the front and fucking center of the damned tactical vest, who knows what would happen to me. I really didn't want to find out. 

-----

As I laid down on my bed I tried my best to drown out the unease rumbling in my mind like an earthquake that'd crack open the Earth and swallow me inside with it. Thoughts in my head clashed like opposing armies in a relentless, never-ending battle. The chaos was palpable, conflicting emotions, doubts, and fear waged in war against each other. A war zone of ideas and memories, the noise of my internal struggle was deafening. 

Guilt had soon engulfed me. Though I'd never admit it, and not even the best interrogators could rip it out of me, but joining Task Force 141 was one of the best things that has happened to me in a long, long time. But, of course, then again, it held the power to be one of the worst outcomes possible in my life. My hasty decision might've led me to unknowingly signing my death warrant. I tried to not let myself think about it too long. Time will always tell. Nobody could ever outrun the clock, and I could only pray my timer wasn't near zero.