Chamber of Reflection - Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OC

Chapter Three: Strict Routines?

Confusion. Complete and utter confusion— that was the most unanimous emotion amongst the men that stood in the cold, barren bedroom. It was as though a grey fog had fallen upon them, shrouding their senses in a blanket of uncertainty, eagerly awaiting one of them to shine a torch and bring reality to light. A twisted lump of blankets sat atop the empty bed, vaguely resembling a body. A twisted lump of blankets that should be tangled around a certain teammate.

Smoke was nowhere to be seen. In fact, there was barely any trace that she was even there, to begin with. Ghost was the first one to enter and uncover the situation. For a second there, he could have fooled himself into believing his mind was playing tricks on him, that the tormented souls of the lives he reaped had manifested; taken the form of a woman who disappeared in a plume of smoke. If it weren't for her luggage neatly piled in the corner of the room, Ghost's next stop would have been to the medbay, asking for that psychologist he turned away just last week.

"How do you lose a woman?" Cobra roared, with his arms thrown up in the arm.

"You forget to cherish her." Gaz quips.

"Hardly the time for jokes, sergeant."

The gravity of the situation seemed more severe on some men than others. Gaz sobered up immediately, standing a little straighter now. The last thing he wanted to was to be on anyone's bad side, let alone a man's with hands burly enough to throttle his neck like a gearstick. Cobra had begun pacing back and forth across the room, ready to burst at a second's notice. He only looked up to glare daggers at the bed, as though Smoke were there to receive the full force of his rage. With a wrinkle in his nose and a clenched jaw, it was obvious to see it was taking every ounce of self-restraint within him not to explode and tear the room apart.

Price seemed to notice this, sending a wary gaze of caution to Ghost. This wasn't a normal reaction to have. Worry? Yes. Confusion? Most definitely. However, to have this rage, this curled hot unstoppable pressure in his gut, tearing apart his senses and searing his insides like a blazing inferno, until every breath he swallowed was laced with embers and charcoal— was not normal.

"She couldn't have wandered off too far, mate." Price reassured, with a pat on the back. "Maybe she ducked out for a walk, stretching out her limbs?

Cobra stopped dead in his tracks. Realisation flashed in his eyes, a spark of knowing.

He swallowed his anger. "Did you show her to the training room, by any chance?"

Gone was any hint of anger. His personality switched so fast, Soap swore it gave him whiplash.

"We walked past it? It's on the way here." He answered.

Cobra cleared his throat, a sneer on his lips. "Lead me there."

The men couldn't help but wonder if his scornful expression, that look of utter disgust, was intentional or if his face was just built that way. Either way, they couldn't ponder on that for too long. Cobra had already stormed out of the bedroom and was standing in the hallway, staring at them expectantly. A disgruntled grumble left Price's throat, a low rumble of thunder. It was one thing, to walk around like he owned the place, but it was another to bark orders at his subordinates. The man, left a bad taste on his tongue, like the bitter aftertaste after a pint of Guinness.

The walk over to the gym was quiet, eerily so at that. The men of Task Force 141 couldn't find it within them to make idle chatter with a man who looked mere seconds away from tearing their heads off. The gym was a bright and open area with a sparring area in the centre, surrounded by modern equipment and machines. Beside the entrance to the room was a glass window, so that any onlookers could peer in and watch men throw each other to the ground in a fit of testosterone-laced adrenaline-fuelled rage.