Contagious || Ghost x Fem

𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

The tension in the room was palpable as Graves worked frantically on the missile controls, his fingers flying over the keyboard in a desperate attempt to disarm the imminent threat. Ghost's gaze remained fixed on Graves, a knot forming in his stomach as the seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness. "Alright, eyes on the controls! Tappin' in," Graves announced, his voice tight with urgency as he delved deeper into the system. But his movements faltered, his expression turning grim as he realized the grim truth. "Fuucckkk, we can't disarm it," Graves muttered, his words heavy with defeat. Ghost's heart sank at the admission, a sense of helplessness washing over him.

"Why?" Ghost pressed, his voice edged with desperation, but Graves could only look up with a haunted expression. "It's too late," he replied solemnly, the weight of the situation settling heavily on their shoulders. Soap's voice broke through the heavy silence, his disbelief evident. "There's no abort code?" he questioned, his tone tinged with disbelief. Graves' response was grim, his words carrying the weight of their dire predicament. "Yeah, well that window's closed on that, boys," Graves stated, his voice heavy with resignation. The reality of their situation sunk in as Shepherd's voice crackled over the comms, his orders clear despite the grim circumstances.

"Solid, Shadow. If we can't disarm, then we detonate," Shepherd commanded, his voice resolute. Graves' jaw clenched as he acknowledged the order, his gaze meeting Ghost's with a silent understanding of the difficult decision that lay ahead. "Roger that, Actual. Stand by," Graves replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging within him. With grim determination, the team braced themselves for the inevitable as they prepared to carry out their final orders. The control room hummed with tension as Ghost and Graves leaned over the console, their eyes fixed on the blinking monitors. Rain hammered against the metal roof, adding to the urgency of their mission. Graves's voice broke through the chaos, his words clear and determined.

"Ghost, get on the controls. We're gonna have to do this together. Now the clock is ticking, so we gotta move, brother, alright?" Despite the seriousness of the situation, there was a hint of camaraderie in Graves's voice as he addressed Ghost. Ghost's lips curled into a slight scoff at the term "brother," but he nodded in acknowledgment, his expression resolute as he tapped into the controls. "Actual, we're on the con. What's the orders?" Graves's voice crackled over the comms, his tone laced with urgency as he awaited instructions. Shepherd's response was swift and direct. "Input the DAL code and let the payload strike." Ghost turned to Graves, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What's a DAL code?" he asked, seeking clarification. Graves's response was concise. "Detonate-After-Launch," he explained, the gravity of the situation evident in his tone.

Shepherd's voice cut through the tension, his words carrying the weight of their mission. "We're gonna take out the oil rig with the missile," he declared, the gravity of his statement hanging heavy in the air. Soap's eyes widened in realization as he turned to Ghost, a sense of urgency in his gaze. "Alejandro is back there with the Shadows," he informed, his words punctuated by the intensity of the situation. Ghost's heart pounded in his chest as he swiftly responded, his voice commanding over the comms. "All stations, clear the rig now! I said clear the rig!" His words echoed through the room, conveying the urgency of their situation as they raced against time to ensure the safety of their comrades.

Alejandro's voice crackled over the comms with urgency, "Roger, what's the count?" Graves wasted no time in responding, his tone focused and determined, "One minute." Alejandro acknowledged swiftly, "Copy, on the move." Graves turned his attention back to Ghost, his instructions clear and concise amidst the chaos. "Alright, Ghost, the controls," he directed, his voice steady despite the urgency of their situation. Ghost nodded, his focus solely on the task at hand as he approached the controls. "We need it in diagnostic mode so I can bypass the login. Ghost, hit the clear and mode keys at the same time," Graves instructed, his voice steady yet urgent. Ghost's heart raced as he followed the instructions precisely, the weight of their mission pressing down on him.

With a sense of urgency, Graves continued, "Alright, now I need the last digit on row two column one." Ghost's eyes scanned the screen, his mind racing as he located the required information. "It's C," he responded, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. "Perfecto," Graves acknowledged, his tone filled with satisfaction as he continued to input commands with precision. A map of New Orleans appeared on the screen, prompting Ghost to relay the information, "It's headed for New Orleans." "Not anymore," Graves declared, his fingers moving swiftly over the controls as he updated the target coordinates. "Target updated, hit execute and we're set," he instructed, his voice firm and decisive as they worked together to avert disaster.

Ghost hesitated only briefly before pressing the execute button, his fingers moving with a sense of purpose despite the weight of their actions. Graves stowed away his tablet with a satisfied smirk, his demeanor bordering on nonchalance as he addressed Ghost, "Let's enjoy our handiwork, Lieutenant." Ghost's jaw clenched slightly at Graves' casual tone, but he remained composed as Graves tapped his shoulder and moved to the center of the room. Suppressing his irritation, Ghost followed Graves' lead, though he couldn't shake the feeling of unease gnawing at him.

"Here we go... All stations, prepare for the boom!" Graves declared with an air of false camaraderie that grated on Ghost's nerves. Exchanging a glance with Soap, Ghost turned his attention to the window, his gaze fixed on the impending destruction. "Missile away," Ghost announced grimly as he watched the projectile streak into the sky, leaving a trail of clouds in its wake before plummeting back towards the rig below. The explosion that followed was deafening, the force of it shaking the control room as debris scattered in every direction, engulfing the rig in a fiery inferno. 

"Look at that big bad beautiful shit!" Graves exclaimed, his voice tinged with excitement. "Steamin', bloody Jesus," Soap muttered, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before them. "Alejandro, you okay?" Graves inquired over the comms, concern evident in his tone. "Holy mother of God! That was freaking crazy, man!" Alejandro's voice crackled over the radio, filled with a mixture of disbelief and exhilaration. Relief washed over the team as they confirmed everyone's safety. Keegan's laughter broke through the tension as he caught Ghost's attention, asking, "You okay?" "Affirmative, you?" Alejandro responded promptly. "We're good here, Hermano," Soap chimed in, his voice steady with reassurance. Graves took charge once more, transmitting over the comms, "Gold Eagle Actual, Shadow-1. Good hit. Missile and rig destroyed." Shepherd's response crackled through the speakers, "Copy that, Shadow-1. Good work. Get off that X and go home. Soap, Ghost, Keegan, thanks for a job well done." 

"Roger that, Actual," Soap acknowledged over the comms, his voice calm and collected. Graves gave a handshake to Soap, and Ghost watched the scene unfold with a reserved demeanor. He watched Graves with furrowed brows beneath his mask before uttering in a steely tone, "We're RTB, men." The tension between them remained palpable, with Ghost's gaze fixed on Graves as they exchanged pleasantries. Despite the outward gestures of camaraderie, there was an underlying sense of unease between them, unresolved issues simmering beneath the surface. 

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