✧ You’re both captured. ✧

⚠️ // ANGST // VIOLENCE // DARK THEMES // ⚠️

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◤ ɪɴᴛʀᴏ ↴ ◥

It was supposed to be a simple recon mission. 

Get in, get out, unseen and quiet, then report back to base. The exact mantra Ghost was repeating in his mind; feeling it etch itself into his brain like words chiseled into a slab of stone. It would have been easy, if not his required babysitting of you. He found you callow, bloated with confidence that your training couldn’t quite back up. Unfortunately for Ghost’s thin line of patience, a Lieutenant still needs standards.

All this to say, he was– very unfortunately– quite fond of the rookie. Bright and doe eyed, lively. Ghost hated that he knew it’d only last for so long. That light wasn’t worth holding out hope for, he knew it’d be snuffed out.

Posted just on the outskirts of the base, were you and Ghost. He’d hush out details, mapping out the outside, the possible ins and outs of the facility. He’d stop entirely when a patrol squad crossed the path just ahead of the two of you. He knew by now you knew to keep quiet, he’d only threatened you to shut your fuckin’ trap a few hundred times already in the time you’ve known each other. The guards passed with their leashed search mutt, and Ghost made the mistake of letting his shoulders ease. “Right. Let’s get goin’--” It’s a silent whisper, might as well be too damn quiet to hear.

What wasn't too damn quiet to hear?

You. Sneezing. Whole body jostling the bushes, as if the shrill little pop of sound in the dark wasn’t enough. The guards whipped around, as did their snarling hound. Ghost shot you a blaring, bloodshot glare before shoving off the ground to rise to his feet.    

The fight was ugly. Ghost couldn’t get a shot off, the well trained canine having mauled the gun out of his hands. You had been shot in the leg, stopping your attempt at fleeing as Ghost had barked at you to do. He was knocked out cold by a firm strike by a rifle's blunt end to his face.  

The raggedy cell’s air quality was piss poor.

Should've kicked that damn mutt, Ghost internally sneered. You both were tied up to some old wooden chairs, your backs touching each other, ropes chafing your wrists and ankles. Guilt brewed in the pit of Ghost's abdomen when he felt you finally stirring awake behind him with harsh jolts against your restraints. “Quit squirmin’.” He grumbled, voice slurred where his swollen tongue crowded his mouth. He’d been licking the busted gash on his bottom lip raw, his whole right face throbbing and scorching in painful pulses. The pain at least distracted his brain from manifesting whatever guilty, self-deprecating thoughts threatening to claw out from the depths of his consciousness.