Chamber of Reflection - Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OC

Chapter Two: Dissection

"I'm bringing in a new person, John."

"I wasn't aware we needed one."

The man in front of Kate Laswell looked out of place, a bit too large for her cosy, cluttered office, let alone the rickety chair he threw himself in five minutes ago. She watched as he readjusted himself, sitting up a bit straighter now, peeling his skin away from the sticky leather armrests. The blinds behind her, although shuttered, did nothing to hinder the golden ribbons of sunlight gliding across the room; beaming a rosy hue across the man's skin. However, it didn't bother him. Captain John Price wore sweat the same way a hero wears rain.

"They'll be a great addition to the team," she reassured.

He reclined back, crossed his arms over his chest and drew in a long breath."I trust your judgement, Kate."

The humidity thickened the tension in the room, the air stagnant yet tangible enough to cut through. Laswell flashed him a tight, albeit knowing smile. More teammates meant more casualties - more grieving husbands and wives, with kids that would never understand how life could be so cruel. Price didn't know how many more phone calls home he could bear to make. It ate away at his very being and if he closed his eyes - he could still hear it. The hitch in a mother's breath, a minute of silence before the wailing, tear-stricken laments pleading to God with 'please, not my son, not my baby!' The idea of it all seemed surreal - thinking of death while sitting in her sheltered office. The calm before the storm, one could say.

A manilla folder lay on her desk, bathing comfortably beneath the warm, tangerine glow of the setting sun peering in. In black ink was a name, barely discernible underneath the bright red 'CONFIDENTIAL' stamp atop it. Price's gaze narrowed, staring it down and almost cursing at it, for the feeling of dread gnawing at his insides.

He cleared his throat before asking, "So, what's the lad's name?"

"Her name is Mariya Lenkova." she corrected, the corner of her lips quirked up. "Codename, Smoke."

He leaned over the desk, studying the woman in the photo. She was a pretty little thing, youthful in her beauty. Her East-European origins were evident in her complexion and facial structure; pale skin tinged pink, high cheekbones carved with a knife, and full fleshy lips with a natural roseate. Her hair was light upon the night sea, flowing black strands falling in soft waves upon her shoulders. And her eyes? They were the sea itself. Unfathomably deep, ripples of steel blue, so deep one could drown.

"Mariya, aye?" Price repeated. "She looks young."

"That's because she is, turned twenty-three not too long ago."

"Christ, Kate..." He dragged his hand over his face. "She's just a baby."

She raised an eyebrow. "This woman is no baby. Her kill count is 'higher than the days she's been alive', according to her captain."

"I'm not a babysitter," he grunted.

"She's a lieutenant— second-class lieutenant here."

Price fell silent at that, his lips pursed into a tight line. He suddenly found everything in Laswell's office much more interesting than her face, surveying the scene with sharp eyes. There were books piled everywhere, threatening to topple over at the softest gust of wind. Large chestnut bookcases scaled the walls, filled to the brim with classic literature and forgotten paperwork long overdue. Little pieces of Laswell were strewn about everywhere, from the pictures of her wife and their golden retriever to the weathered, yellowed notepads scattered about with little doodles of the view from the window just behind her.

"Her file is beyond impressive, especially for someone her age." Kate flicked through the file. "She's worked in multiple covert operations, infiltration specialist, excellent at sniping and hand-to-hand combat."