Wicked Chaos | COD MW2 SGR FF/AU

13 | SNAPDRAGONS

NSFW WARNING: SEXUAL CONTENT

Fuerzas Especiales, Las Almas, Mexico / 10-30-22 / 23:56
LIEUTENANT SIMON "GHOST" RILEY / TF-141

A polished name plate cast from the finest steel was bolted to the barrier separating Ghost from Chaos' private quarters; engravings of her position and name struck into its surface, firmly and inarguably dictating who the contained space belonged to. Pondering its intricacies and simplicities, the man supposed it was nothing out of the ordinary for the lieutenant to have a permanent room on the base, considering how Chaos and Los Vaqueros secured a professional relationship with each other. Ghost palmed the keys to the woman's room, feeling the unmistakable shape of the Gyeongbokgung Palace keychain attached to her keyring as he unlocked the door. Slowly and cautiously, Ghost made his way inside her forbidden sanctuary, illuminating the room with its single light switch.

In tune with what the lieutenant had expected of the woman, a comforting bareness flooded the confines of Chaos' quarters, save for the floral fragrance seizing the sanity of his senses, driving him mad at her prolonged absence the longer he stood in her kindgom. The room was clear of unnecessary clutter but Ghost couldn't help but notice a small collection of novels organized by colour situated on her desk. Quickly raking his eyes across their titled spines, they looked to scribe several different genres but without reading their synopsis blurbs on their covers, he couldn't honestly tell their internal contents. He stalked around the remaining perimeter of the lieutenant's room before easing to a stop, spotting her gear and tactical clothes haphazardly tossed onto the tactical case and duffle bag at the foot of her bed.

Ghost grabbed a hold of Chaos' favoured black quarter zip, immediately greeted by its missing sleeve and crusted blood infused into its tousled knitting and frayed edges as he lifted it up. Just hours prior, Ghost had seen the woman without her usual clad of black, rather fashioning a plain tanktop as she disappeared into a conference room following a visit to the medical bay to extract the bullet that was previously in her shoulder and receive stitches in its place. However, Chaos was diligent to grant him passage to her room despite previously being denied such a privilege, discreetly passing him a set of keys as she walked by him. Though it was brief, a mildly uncomfortable expression was present on her face before she shut herself into the conference room; he could only assume her missing security blanket attributed to her discontent, something he understood far too well on a personal level.

Neatly folding the remains of Chaos' torn sweater, Ghost placed the clothing article back on top of her duffle bag, but not before noticing a polaroid photo peeking out from one of its internal pockets. The innocence of curiosity seized control of his body and before he could reprimand himself for prying into the woman's privacy, the picture was pinched between his fingers as he observed its captured memory.

A group of nine American soldiers were posed together in front of a military helicopter with a black and brown German shepherd sitting on its rump in the foreground, their faces and identities obscured by balaclavas with white markings painted directly onto their knitting. From what he could discern, several were depicting the deathly stares of skulls and abstract diagonal lines. One, however, stood out amongst the rest, their mask portrayed wicked fangs made to resemble a beast's gaping maw.

Despite the soldier's obscured identity, their piercing blue eyes ignited a sense of familiarity from within, the tell-tale sign of the embodiment of oceans and sirens.

Chaos was in a task force.

"Careful with that lieutenant, that's my favourite picture."

Ghost's previously steady heart began to thumb against his ribcage as a melodic but dangerous voice echoed through the otherwise silent space. He craned his head towards the doorway, finding the woman of the hour leaning loosely against it with her arm in a sling, the sound of the deadbolt following the sudden statement in unison with his flashback to the Chihuahua Desert. Perceptiveness was a trait that Ghost had failed to give her enough credit for; everything about Chaos, everything about this woman and every action she performed, did indeed make his heart race at a rhythm he could not secure behind his internal boundaries. The way her seemingly delicate but scared hands traced the shell of his mask. The way her rosy pink lips pecked the sharp bone of his jaw. The way she saw through him was as if he were an expertly crafted glass figurine. Ghost lost any care of the walls he had built over so many years, her alluring presence demanding full transparency.