𝕮𝖆𝖙𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆 𝕲𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖙 | Simon 'GHOST' Riley

𝕰𝖑𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓

You bounced your leg the entire journey, so much so that Ghost had made several comments about you shaking the car so much that you were giving him motion sickness. 

But you were nervous, going into a public place without the protection of your mask, your face in full view of everyone – a room full of the known enemy. 

Soap had placed a comforting hand on your knee, which helped a little, but not enough.

When you pulled up to the venue, your jaw dropped.

It was beautiful; a grand mansion in the middle of Las Almas. White, marbled walls and stair cases, spotlights all the way up to the golden double doors. The place was trawling with masked security holding a magnitude of automatic weapons. 

"Fucking hell..." you whispered, grabbing onto Soap's hand tightly.

"Hey, we're gonna be fine, pet."

Ghost turned from the front seat, leaning in to the two of you.

"Here are your comms, don't let anyone see."

You took the first, slipping it into your hair covered ear, Soap following your actions.

"6-2, checking in." you mumbled.

"7-1, checking in."

"Shadow 1 reading you loud and clear. Let's do this." Graves answered.

With one final nod from Ghost, you and Soap exited the vehicle, and his arm tightly wound around your waist as you ascended the steps to the doors.

Time to put on a show.

Wordlessly, you handed the doorman your invitation, Soap squeezing your side tightly as the two guards shamelessly took in your appearance.

"What is your purpose here?" they asked, patting the two of you down.

"My name is Natalia Belyaev, I am the daughter of billionaire investor Dmitri Belyaev." you said in your perfect accent, eyes narrowing as the man in front of you stooped down to pat your legs.

"So, I suggest you take your hands off my ass before I have you shot against a post."

"Easy, Reaper." Ghost chuckled into the comms, "Let's not massacre just yet."

"My apologies, miss."

The grand doors opened, revealing a reception room full of people, dressed to the 'nines. You recognised some of the people there, having seen many of their faces on various terrorist watchlists. 

"6-2 to 0-7, there are hundreds of wanted terrorists here."

"Stay on target, Price. We've got 'em."

"Thermal imaging and software ready to go for the signal." Graves said.

Moving elegantly around the room on Soap's arm, you faked pleasantries with many, enduring the disgusting flirting with most of the men in the room. The two of you observed for well over an hour before locating any sign of the office.

As you chugged down your fourth glass of Champaign, desperate to calm your nerves, Soap moved in front of you, pulling you flush against his chest, lips grazing your ear.

"Soap what the fuck-"

"Voice down, the guy in the corner won't stop watching you."

Sure enough, when you embraced Soap to get a good look over his shoulder, there was a man, eyes locked on you. 

"Are you made?" Ghost said, with what sounded like concern.

"Negative, just think he might be interested in our little assassin here."