Jasper. Fuckin'. MacTavish.
It was rare that Ghost let someone get under his skin.
It was even rarer that Ghost let a woman get under his skin.
To make these fucked up matters worse, she was his partners fucking kin.
Yea, it was rare that Ghost l...
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Hey guys, apologies for the long wait between chapters. I started a new job full-time, and I've been sleeping like a dead person. i.e. no time for sexy COD men so bare with me, I promise there's good shit comin'.
[Confidential Location; Military Base; 0615 hours]
I wasted no time getting to Price's office, strapping on my combat gear as I walked.
The fabric of my cargo pants shifted together, my bulletproof vest smacking into my sides where I didn't fill into the equipment.
It was all built for men, but I'd be damned if I wore women's clothes- far too little pocket space.
Decked head to toe in all black, I knew I was a vision of death in the busy hallways, most of the men avoiding my shadowy form like I had the bubonic plague.
A few extra brave marines saluted me as we passed each other, smiling as they greeted me for the morning. I didn't offer them any response.
Spending 26 long-ass hours in a Beoing C-17A transport plane with those testosterone-filled children was good enough for me.
Captain Price's office was on the other end of the compound from my assigned room, as were all the ranking soldiers' offices. I had one too, but I hadn't scoped it out yet- that's a problem for the future.
Walking down the hall, I passed door after door of gold-plated names, not bothering to read them in any particular detail. Price, Price, Price- ah, there he is.
"Captain Jonathan Price"
His name and rank were etched deep into the plate, age and wear telling me that it'd been screwed onto this door for a while. There was a good amount of noise bubbling from the room, talking and laughing echoing around me.
Everyone else must be here already. Great.
Adjusting my vest for a final time, I ensured my mask was secure and my uniform's hood pulled forward as far as possible. Keeping my face covered was essentially a part of my contract now, and I'd be damned if I fucked that up on day two.
Then, I gripped the silver knob and twisted, slipping into the room.
As I'd guessed, the rest of 141 was already here, loudly conversing and paying no mind to me. Not my fault that the women's barracks are halfway across the fuckin world.
I stayed by the door, hands behind my back and chin up. My eyes scanned the room, taking inventory of everything I could get my sights on, mapping out the space in my mind.
Like Price's plaque, everything here had an aged look, as if things hadn't moved since he had placed them. Frames and newspaper clippings covered the walls; photos of him and the team, military articles about their victories, and random medals. It was cleaner than I'd expected, not a lick of dust.
