The Cobra Strikes

Chapter 1

Ghost sat in the safe house kitchen with a laptop in front of him, Price next to him and a mild sense of annoyance flickering in his chest. This last mission had been a problem to say the least, and it affected him a lot more than he'd like to admit. Soap was practically out of service for the next few days, and Gaz has been unconscious for hours. Signs of brain damage.
The lieutenant picked at his bandages wrapped firmly around his arms as he waited for the call with Shepard to connect. Someone managed to get a few rounds in him, although they more or less grazed his skin so it only needed bandaging. Lucky him.
Once Price had managed to get Shepard in the private video chat he sat up straighter and tipped his chin in a polite nod to the General.
Shepard studied the two for several beats of silence before shaking his head and picking up a file off his desk. "I understand that this last mission went...less then well?" He questioned, opening the file as he waited for an answer. Both Price and Ghost have him blank stares. The General gave up on getting an answer and went on with his business.
"Due to poor performance, I will be sending in one of my own contractors. They are an excellent sniper, even better when given a knife and close combat. Their name is Striker, and they should be within the area soon. I will send over their file for you to overlook, Captain. Be aware-" he pauses, turning his head to look to the right as someone speaks from outside of the camera view. A low voice, and they sound angry. Shepard merely raises a gray brow before turning back to the camera. Frowning. "-they're loyalties lie with whoever is paying the most. They are not like the 141, so be careful. Over and out." And with that very cryptic warning, the video ends and the two are left with a sense of wonder and fear. Mostly fear on Price's part.
"So, when do you think this beloved contractor is going to be here?" Ghost asks Price who shrugs and closes the laptop.
The 141 did not need any extra help, none of it. Just a few weeks to rest until the sergeants could be back on their feet and Price didn't flinch at every noise.
Ghost stood with the intention to shower, and sleep. He fucking needed it. Yet that short lived plan was interrupted by a knock at the door. Whoever was on the other side had a lot of nerve to do so, as Soap grumbled from his spot on the couch and tucked himself further into the thin blanket. A flicker of irritation licked at his mind as he walked over to the heavy wooden door, unlocked the many locks and opened it.
Never, in a million years, would the lieutenant do this but he was now practically begging for death as he stared at a masked...thing? Person really. They wore all black, dark as shadows, and the only thing he could make out in the darkness that they stood in, was the piercing blue eyes.
A mystery is what was standing in front of him. Soap half shouted something from the couch about it being cold, only to get Price telling him to shut up.
Ghost studied the figure once more, and found three interesting things. They had a utility belt with a few mags and an array of knives. On their back was a Barrett m82, powerful and dangerous for someone so seemingly...small. Oh, and they stood with their feet an even amount apart, shoulders back, chin straight, and covered eyes going right through him. To say it unnerved him was an understatement.
Slowly, they seemed to focus in on him and they held out a gloved hand.
"Striker. Here on orders from Lieutenant General Shepherd to aid 141. You are Lieutenant Simon Riley, yes?" They spoke like they had rehearsed that line before. What bothered the man more was how uninterested they sounded. Like they didn't want to be here.
It took several seconds for the man to regain his composure and he stepped aside, not shaking Striker's hand. "Yes, now come in before you freeze." He practically scolds and leans back when Striker steps in, trying to stay away from the enigma.
Striker scans the main room, nodding to Price with a mumbled greeting before walking over to the nearest table and setting down a bag ghost had not noticed before. It was small, probably holding the bare necessities. "Shepard does not have a new mission for 141, so it seems we shall be sitting ducks until the dust settles." They point out what was already obvious, and this time their speech seems less rehearsed and more matter-of-fact. Weird.
Price stands from his spot at the table they had walked over to and shakes the person's hand. He's being nice, despite being a bit fearful of them. Ghost only watches from afar, not wanting to get close. And he thought he was freaky, this person takes the cake.
"Welcome to 141." Price turns to the broken team and Striker studies the four. Each of them. Remaining on Ghost the longest. Ghost notices that they wear no mask, and that even without one it is insanely difficult to tell if they are a man or a woman. The person only nods as a form of acknowledgement before returning to Price.
"Glad to be here."

||~~~||

Striker woke up from her sleep when her phone was ringing. Slowly the woman sits up, rubbing her eyes as she digs in her bag for her phone. Finding the buzzing device she answers the call, mumbling something about it being too early, and pinches the phone between her jaw and shoulder as she fumbles in the dark for a jacket and an energy drink.
Once she has found both items she slips the coat on, cracks open the drink and walks outside. Gently pushing Gaz aside when he rolls over on his makeshift mat that resides on the floor.
"Well good morning to you too, sunshine." The person on the other side greets and she snorts, sipping the carbonated sweetness.
"Graves. Been awhile. Checking up on your girl?" She retorts, looking up from the safe house porch and watching the early morning sun light up one end of the sky.
A laugh comes from the other side and she can tell there's another person in the room. Judging by the way this person speaks, she guesses it's her friend and the shadow's intelligence officer.
"Always checking up on my girl. How's 141 so far?" He asks, muttering something to the other person who keeps poking his side. Striker snorts, downing another swig of her drink as she thinks about it. She's been with the 141 for a few weeks and so far she's figured out that Soap cannot cook to save his life, and he likes to cuddle anything that's warm. Gaz is currently out of service entirely, as he lost control of his left side and needs a few weeks of recovery. Price likes cigars and whiskey with his dinner, and Ghost, he's interesting.
Ghost is an interesting character. He is okay. Kind when he wants to be, like the few times he's come back with Soap from the nearby town and has gotten her energy drinks and snuck her a chocolate bar or two. To which she always repays him by restocking his flask and cigarettes. But he is an utter dick with a disregard for his own safety.
Striker eventually snaps back into reality and answers Graves' question. "So far so good. They seem to like me, and I'm essentially friends with the lieutenant. Mother fucker refuses to leave me alone." She chuckles at the memory of him following her around like a puppy. It was kind of cute actually.
A small shiver shoots up her spine when a breeze whistles through the trees near the house and she pulls her jacket tighter around her, ignoring the cold.
Striker can hear the eye roll coming from Graves who munches on something in the background before responding, his mouth full of food. "You wanna fuck him?" He asks and Striker nearly chokes on her drink. She coughs a few times, clearing out her airway with a surprised laugh. "Uh, no. I have better things to do." "Like fuck the captain?! Naughty girl." He teases and Striker just hangs up, snickering while shaking her head. "Asshole."
"Who's an asshole?" A British heavy voice asks behind her and she turns her head to look at Ghost. His lean frame was propped up against the door, with a narrowed gaze through the holes of his mask set on her. She merely shrugged, watching the field of tall grass sway with the gentle winds of the early morning. "A friend." She responds, taking another sip of her drink with a small hum. "Why are you up so early?" She questions, pushing herself off the railing of the porch and turning to face him fully. Was she short? Not particularly. 5 '10 since fifth grade, but compared to him she was pretty short.
Ghost doesn't say anything, instead he peels himself off the door, causing it to creek, and walks over to her. He stays a small distance away as he leans against the railing, arms crossed and tucked under him as he watches the stars that slowly slip away as the sun takes over. Striker raises a dark brow. Yet says nothing, turning to lean against the rail as well and simply standing in silence for a long while. The two seemed okay with each other's presence and Ghost's initial response to her had disappeared a few days later, becoming accustomed to her presence.
The man went into his jacket pocket for what was probably a cigarette, and when he pulled out the pack he grumbled at not being able to find his lighter. After a few more mutters of something Striker didn't care about, she reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the metal lighter.
His eyes tracked her as she once again relaxed against the railing, frosty eyes still watching the dimly lit acres around them. He mumbled a thanks when she had found his lighter and lifted the bottom portion of his mask up. Striker used her peripheral to watch him and she smirked slightly. She didn't need to see the rest of his face to know he was attractive. The ghost didn't notice her watching him and he placed a cigarette between his lips, smoldering the end of it.
"Disregard for your safety will get you killed." She says, and without giving him a chance to defend himself, or maybe he took too long, she picks up her phone and walks inside. Leaving him confused, intrigued, and desperate to know more.
"Asshole." He mutters, huffing out a plume of smoke into the early morning light.