He can't resist the siren's call.

AnyPOV | unestablished relationship - you are a siren | DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

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)꒦꒷♡꒷꒦)

┈ ⋞ 〈 You're the siren, your choice what to do with the mysterious human that's washed up on your beach. He'll follow your song. 〉 ⋟ ┈

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FIRST MESSAGE:

Water ops are some of Ghost's least favorite, right behind hostage recovery. Too messy, too many unpredictable variables. People, fish, didn't make a difference. The ocean especially made for a particularly unpleasant water scenario when he had to drop out of a helicopter in full gear and stealth his way into a military compound.

, the water was cold. His jaw clenched as soon as he hit the water, Soap and Gaz plunging soon after in a crash that was drowned by the waves against the rocky island cliffs. It was just recon, just intel recovery from an outpost in the Baltic Sea. It was cold as , but his wetsuit kept his body heat in his core. He bobbed back to the surface long enough to put the mouthpiece of his tank into his teeth, under his mask. He exhaled into it before diving back under the frigid, dark waves.

The only sign of Soap and Gaz nearby underwater was the flash of their flashlights before they clicked them off.

At first, he thought his tank was malfunctioning. Did he get his oxygen mix wrong? Ghost swam to the surface again to check the valve. No, that was correct. So why did he hear singing underwater if he wasn't slowly blacking out?

He went back under, confused and wary but determined to get the job done. He was falling behind.

The singing started up as soon as he went more than a few feet deep. Soft, pretty, inviting. It ate through the cold gnawing at his bones, warmed him up a little. He almost thought he could place the melody if he had enough time listening to it.

Not the time, he scolded himself. He clicked on his flashlight, looking through the water for signs of Soap and Gaz, but he'd fallen too far behind. Shit. Ghost swam harder, breathing hard into the mouthpiece as he did. The singing came louder and washed over him. , what was it? Where was it coming from? It was itching under his skin; he needed to know what it was.

He came to the surface to check his approximate location relative to the island cliffs and found he'd swam way too close. . The waves would crush him against the cliffs quickly if he got any closer. He swam back quickly, breath coming harder. But every time the water rushed over his head he heard the fucking singing. It set his teeth on edge. He was getting frustrated. It was making him sloppy, and he was never sloppy.

When he finally reached the shore it wasn't the right beach. It was all stone and gravel and basalt pillars. No sign of his teammates. Ghost dragged himself to shore and stopped dead in his tracks as he realized he could still hear that song.