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gofishygo · 1 year ago

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price x trans ftm reader who started his transition later in life? like just thinking... they served a tour or two together before reader transitioned. had a little fling going on, potentially on the way towards more. but after whatever mission/tour theyre on is over, reader slowly stops keeping in contact with price.

years down the line, the reunite during some sort of mission. price recognizes readers last name or callsign but the face he's met with is different. this man is happier.

price and reader get to talking in some downtime and decide that once this is all over (the mission they're on), they'll try and take some time together to make up for all the time they'd lost together. and price gets to meet the real you.

[PRIDE MONTH- WEEK ONE] : through green hydrangeas (my heart lies) price x ftm reader (part 1/2)

notes : (somewhat innacurate) descriptions of military, injury, brief outlines of smut (no explicits mentioned), gender dysphoria, reader gets outed towards the end. this may be edited later on.

wc- 1.8k

urzikistan- take down six targets aligned with al quatala, all terrorist backgrounds. a mission where location and timing and team were everything, pointed into maps and plotted into files, handled with fine-cut secrecy, knife-point precision, landed directly into price's aged hands. And now, at the final stretch, he'd been handed a few recruits at his expense. Fought with laswell against them, argued that his team could run through the enemy.

(and by god, how can he focus on the task at hand when he sees the shine in that operator's eyes, the curvature of his face? warm and familiar, the mother's milk suckled by a pup.)

It’s odd, having to work with a man so similar to her. narrowed eyes and sharp teeth, even sharing the same gun hed swore he gifted her- considers for a moment that maybe she’d changed, now baring a different name on id’s and passports, records crossed out and scrawled over. stole her last name as well, and before he’d even met you, he had already considered asking laswell to ship you off to whatever pmc would accept you.

but at the same time, he bites his tongue, wire muzzle to some refectory dog.

you seem to truly be alive, words barked with flame, spilled from your stomach, full-toothed smile instead of the sleazy grin she wore. you are her and aren’t her- and sometimes, maybe, he lets himself think youre better. sweeter. hates the way he still gives you the same greeting as he did to that woman, selfishly using a subordinate to fill out some cavity in his chest. but he can’t have it any other way, doesn’t want to have it in any other way.

a world where slowing down didn’t mean stopping. had a nice ring to it.

it's 0400 on the day of deployment. there's brittle crust in the ducts of your eyes that you hadn't been able to wash of in the changerooms, and now you are holding onto gun and hanging onto the sky by plane, listening to the clicks as you load and unload the magazines. missions like these, capture-kills with enemies that outdid your measures of brutality and lived for the beliefs of bloodshed in liberty; they weigh in your chest, some layers of adrenal fear smuggled under the layers of methodical, stoical behaviour. the buzzing headache that never left as a child, the feel of pressure wrapped around crevices of the cerebellum, tightening.

in these plights, you'd used to knock on price's door, hands itching to roll into fist- turning the fear you'd guide like a shepherd into the spit in stout-littered kisses, how you pulled off his clothes like the vulture to a corpse. the way your body moved against his was the nicotine you'd smoke on long nights. it was sickening, at first, how much control that you revelled in, the way that his name had found its place under your tongue. the way that he grabbed at the bone in your hips, worshipping, devotee. taken to his body like addict to a drug, the dissociation between you heart and the fat-filled mounds on your chest washed out by lust. he makes it feel like the ache was never there, that you could scream with the voice that had been trapped beneath high-strung vocal cords, unfortunate biology. and you let yourself beg to god; why, oh god why, why were you given a body at the cost of your life?

but now, navigating through some twisted buildings under the cover of night, clearing rooms in the hotel, you know that you're changed. the revelation behind the woman beneath price's sheets all those years ago, who'd stolen your skin and your eyes and your face- it could cost you your life, could have you shunned and dying like a dog on the streets. and yet, you still hold a weary head up and dream about-

Johnathan price. he still festered in your ribcage, face slipped away into the back of your skull, the bug you'd yet to squish as you drive military blade into an enemy's neck and muffle their mouth through dying thrashes. He nods, gruff sound muted behind mutton chops, murmuring an audible 'clear' through the fizzle of comms. And you let yourself wonder, if maybe those prismarine eyes can find yourself in the body now known as home. (He swears that your smile matches the woman he'd fell for through sparring matches and facebook posts. that old face he'd barely managed to blot out with cigars and whiskey and downed with bourbon and-) your team proceeds down the hallways,

‘all stations on right wing, target four is down. I repeat, target four is down. zero KIA.’ and your mouth quirks up a little. ‘deems that Ghost’s aim still doesn’t fail,” you muse. His eyebrow raises- only slightly- at the tense of your words. still.

“certainly doesn’t,” and you want to drink the strain in his voice until its ache is gone.

another few minutes of clearing the building. the repetitions of breaking open the same doors with the same crowbars, gun peeking through the side of the frame. So similar, practiced in recon and real-world situations, yet never being comfortable, safe. it’s almost automatic at this point, reducing your phycology to nothing more than the gun that you wield- deciding, acting. but looking over at price- the look in his eyes know’s you’d been injured. Bubbling fire deep in your marrow, fear bittering the air around you; foul, unappetising, yet it feels the captain wants to swallow you whole.

and now it rips through you- feels like your insides are pouring out, scrap of kidney and intestine pooling out at the starburst entry point. some pained shriek ripped out of your throat. at one point, you waited next to the doorframe of a room, (sixty-four left wing, is it?) and the next, some enemy operator had opened a hole in your stomach.

whatever moment between that is an animated blur, dismal and discoloured where sound pools in your ears instead of song. a captain- your captain, tackling the man to the ground in a double-leg-takedown, throwing down the gun at their side, the high wail of shots fired ringing into your ear while a teammate -the milky white patch on her face makes you assume it might be nova- drags you behind the wall as cover, your teammates taking position to cover for price, but also rip through the inhabitants of the room. and for the first time in the mission, you let fear curdle in your throat alongside the blood clinging to it’s walls, drip into your bloodstream and bury itself into bone. cant tell if the shadow hazing your thoughts is the predecessor death or subdued panic finally breaking though it’s confines . and you find it bitter, stupid, wholly in your heart, that even as your stomach spills onto the floor of a home that wasn’t yours, that part of your brain still festers. a possibility that the only man who could make your heart beat- john price, and his affair with the woman who’d stolen your soul and locked it behind flesh. Letting out some bitter laugh, feeling blood trace your lips whilst some stray bullet manages to hit the skull of an enemy, heard by the ungodly gurgle and tear of bullet through flesh, confirmed by the hum of your comms. “target two on left wing down, one broken-” price, now next to you, lets hard eyes settle against your form, dying star. “-seems to need medic.” another voice fizzles to life on the radio- laswell’s, you presume. “team delta, split to d1-d2. d1 continue to clear left wing, d2 head to rendezvous point.”

you can only really groan, blood bubbling to your throat when price hauls you to face his side, hissing out some curse as you hold shaky hand to where the blood seems to be leaking from. “easy there soilder-“ john grunts, wrenching your hand out of the way with a firm grip- a bear gripping her cub the scruff of it’s neck, holding it so tenderly between her teeth. one of your other teammates- cant identify them, head too filled up with adrenaline filled cloud and the haze to blood loss to register their shape- seems to toss over a roll of bandages. and if you had breath left, you would have barked out some half-assed remark about how strategically awful it was to tear off the gear and pull off the shirt of your uniform, but the nerves of the paled scars below your chest being revealed to cold air had your mouth shut, jaws locked, like wired muzzle to a dog. trying not to choke on the blood and jerk away when his eyes meet the placement of the wound.

it's diasporic, shaped like a dying star above you tattoo you’d had engraved deep into your dermis all those years ago. the 141’s old symbol- jagged sword without the skull, olive branches extending through its frame. a part of you far more distinctive, more tolerable to remember than thought of the girl who had decided to have it etched into her skin. And now your captain can see both of those on you- in you- and shamefully, you let lurid fear bite into you, thoughts snapping with teeth, breaking down the glass bars that composed the cage you made. Price may never kiss that tattoo again during the long nights, now look at the memories you’d made with a lens tinted by hatred. “nice to put a name to the face,”

he murmurs, wrapping the bandage to compress the wound, once, twice, thrice around your waist. Hauls your arm around his shoulder and begins the trek to the rendezvous point. one arm was pressed just above where he knew your tattoo rested, no mind to whatever blood trickles in the cracks of his fingers. “ill see you back at burningham, love,” its like your submerged in water now, eyes blurry with seawater and ears deafened by the tide filling their crevices. with the last of your energy, you tug yourself towards price, fingers tangled in his, doubling over and feeling the bandages settle under the layer of fat and muscle on your ribs. letting yourself dream of him for what seems to be your last time, fingers tangled together, pretending that your gasps for air were nothing more than laughter echoes against crashing waves on british shores, letting fresh saltwater air tangle you hair and travel your windpipe.

by the time the captain scoops you up, you’re far too deep in oceanwater, back against rocky seafloor. “stand strong, soldier,” and even through his gruff voice, you still notice the way it almost begs, song of prayer tucked away deep in his voicebox . some words he had hidden. price pulls you closer with his arm, fingers clawed and desperate, and the world crashes against you all at once.

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redislazy · 8 months ago

Text

Deadly Attachments, Chapter 01

Chapter 02 >>

[EVENTUAL SMUT] - Minors DNI

> ao3 <

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x female!Reader

Summary: As a skilled mercenary, you've navigated countless high-stakes missions—until one job puts you in the crosshairs of Task Force 141 and the elusive "Ghost." Now forced into an uneasy alliance, you’re drawn into a dangerous game of shifting loyalties and hidden motives. But as the stakes climb higher, one question lingers: how close can you get to the man who was meant to be a shadow in your path?

Content Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Military Action & Romance, Mercenaries, Soldiers, Non-Canon Antagonists, Eventual Smut, Military Inaccuracies, Slow Burn, Will add smut-specific tags later as the story goes

Author's Note: i've been wanting to write a multi-chapter Ghost x female!reader fic for a while now, and i'm excited to finally share it! i've already written a lot of chapters in advance, though they still need tons of proofreading; English is NOT my native language, so i rely heavily on tools like Autocrit, Grammarly, and ProWriting Aid to help me with grammar and flow + my bf, who's a native speaker, has been super helpful with this project. <3 a quick heads-up: there are likely some military inaccuracies;; sorry in advance! comments and feedback are hugely appreciated; they help me know if i'm on the right track! (10/29/24) edit: i made a playlist on both Spotify and Youtube!! it’s not exactly tailored to the story’s vibe, but more like the songs that kept me in the zone while writing. have fun!

You stare at the dingy wall of the interrogation room, your body weary from being bound to the chair for hours. You've always been pretty damn good at your job, but somehow, you finally met someone that matched your skills, managing to catch you. You—a mercenary who's been in the industry for ten years, and never once have you been in a bind like this. You let out a loud groan, your frustrations growing the more they make you wait in the room. Typical for the SAS to waste people's time like this.

The door swings open and in walks a tall figure clad in tactical gear, a skull balaclava covering his face. His cold blue eyes peer through the holes in the mask, scrutinizing you. The sound of boots echoing against the concrete floor is the only thing that fills the tense silence. He takes his time to observe you, noticing the signs of weariness and frustration etched on your face. He takes a seat across the table, his movements deliberate and controlled, making sure you know who's in charge here. He leans forward, arms crossed, and studies you.

"Alright," he says, his British accent sharp and authoritative, "let's cut to the chase. We know you've been working with those Russian bastards. What we want to know is why?" His voice is stern and unwavering, making it clear he won't tolerate any lies or evasion. He takes a moment to analyze your body language and reactions, trying to read you like an open book.

His hatred towards you isn't personal, at least not yet. But you represent everything he despises in this world—mercenaries who sell themselves to do dirty work without considering the consequences of their actions. He hates the fact that he has to deal with your kind in the first place. But he also knows that sometimes, information is more valuable than a bullet, especially when it comes to taking down the enemy. So, he'll play this game of cat and mouse for now.

You take a deep breath, stopping yourself from popping up a vein at his question. "I've been telling you this whole time! I'm not one of Kozlov's men. I'm a merc, okay? I was hired by a PMC." You let out an angry huff.

Once a decorated intelligence officer within Russia’s GRU, Viktor Kozlov became disillusioned with what he saw as the corruption and moral decay of powerful nations. After a covert operation went wrong and exposed him to the brutal lengths governments would go to maintain control, he vanished, presumed dead. In reality, Viktor spent years gathering resources, supporters, and arms to launch his own crusade against the "imperialist and morally corrupt" systems of the world. Now, he leads The New Dawn, a terrorist network dedicated to dismantling global powers through calculated attacks designed to destabilize entire regions.

The masked man raises an eyebrow at your response, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. He taps his fingers lightly on the table, the rhythm a silent countdown before he speaks again. "A PMC, you say? And yet, here you are, in the middle of our operation against Kozlov," he retorts, his voice still cold and calculating. In his mind, he's already running through various scenarios and possibilities, trying to piece together your story and find any holes in it. He leans forward once more, the dim light reflecting off his skull balaclava, creating an intimidating visage. "Who hired you? And what were your orders?"

You scoff at his question. "You think I'd just tell you who I work for? I may not look like it, but I have a decent work ethic."

Ghost chuckles darkly at your defiance, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Work ethic, huh? You do know we have our ways of making people talk, right?" His tone turns icy, making it clear he's not one to be trifled with. "Look, we're not playing games here. If you're truly not one of Kozlov's men, then you'll tell us who sent you. If you don't, I can't guarantee your safety. We both know how things can go south pretty quickly in our line of work." He pauses, letting his words sink in before adding, "And if you are lying, well, then it's just a matter of time before we find out anyway. So, what's it going to be?" His voice is firm, leaving no room for negotiation.

You take a moment to study the expression in his eyes, the only part of his face that is exposed. It's almost impossible to tell what he's thinking.

You sigh, recognizing that you no longer have the energy to prolong this game with the SAS any further. You've already been compromised. Hard. Is it truly worth it to hide details of your mission at this point? He's right; even if you don't talk, they'll find out eventually.

"Fine," you finally relent. "Aegis Black Ops. That’s who I work for. They’re a black-budget PMC; no official ties, just results. We take the jobs no one else can—stealing intel, sabotage, high-risk extractions. Founded by an ex-CIA agent, they run ops in total secrecy. Kozlov's been on our radar for a while now, and Aegis has a personal score to settle. We’ve hit his operations before, and my task was to steal data while he and his men are preoccupied fighting you SAS lot," you answer firmly, with no hint of any deceit in your tone.

Ghost listens intently to your explanation, his expression unchanging behind the balaclava. It's not uncommon for private military contractors to have their own agendas, but it doesn't mean he has to trust them blindly. After a moment of contemplation, he finally speaks up, "So, why didn't you just come clean from the start? We could've saved ourselves a lot of trouble." There's a hint of annoyance in his voice, but it's quickly replaced by curiosity. "What kind of data were you after? And what's so special about Kozlov that Aegis wants him out of the picture?" He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers together, studying you carefully.

You cross your arms, meeting his gaze steadily. “I didn’t ‘come clean’ because I know exactly how this works,” you say, keeping your voice cool. “You and the SAS might claim the high ground, but governments? They’ll weaponize any intel they can get their hands on. I’m not here to hand over data that’ll just end up as another piece on some political chessboard.”

You let out a low breath, fighting the urge to laugh at the irony. “As for Kozlov, he’s a threat, sure. But to Aegis, he’s also an opportunity—an unstable element that could bring a lot of secrets to the surface if we get to him first. I’m not here to play nice or pretend I’m on some noble crusade. I just know where my loyalty lies—and it’s not with any government.”

He maintains eye contact with you, a flicker of amusement crossing his mind. He nods slowly, acknowledging your position. "Understood." His tone is terse, showing no sign of taking offense at your blatant lack of trust.

He pushes himself off the chair, his military boots echoing in the cold concrete interrogation room. He paces around, his shadow looming over the data on the table. "We both want Kozlov gone," he finally says, stopping to look down at you. "That's enough common ground for now. But I'll need proof that you can deliver." He pauses, allowing his words to hang in the air. "Any proposals?" Ghost asks, his accent clipped and authoritative.

"I propose you untie me off this chair and send me home. I'm not going to get involved with whatever you're planning from here on out. I failed my mission already because of you, and that's where my role ended." You glare at him, each word sharp with irk.

He raises an eyebrow at your defiance, his jaw clenching slightly. He reaches up, running his gloved fingers along the edge of his balaclava. "Well, now that's a problem, isn't it?" he replies coldly. "Because I can't exactly let you go back to your merry little band of thieves after all this."

His eyes narrow, assessing your reaction to his words. "Besides, if you're half as good as you claim to be, then I could use someone like you. And it'd be a shame to waste talent like yours because of some misplaced loyalty." He closes the gap between you in a few short strides. Leaning in close, he looks down at you with an air of challenge. "So, what's it going to be? Are you going to be a liability...or an asset?"

You smirk up at him, not budging an inch as he closes in. “Oh, please,” you say sharply, mimicking his demeanor. “Let’s get one thing straight—‘misplaced loyalty’ isn’t in my vocabulary. I know exactly who I’m loyal to, and let’s just say it isn’t anyone waving a government flag.”

You tilt your head, meeting his stare without flinching. “And as for being a ‘liability’ or an ‘asset’? Let’s not pretend you didn’t decide to let me live because of my expertise in the first place. Maybe you’re starting to realize you need someone like me a little more than you thought, hm?”

You shrug, all casual defiance. “So, what’s your choice, skull-face? Going to trust a so-called ‘liability’ to get the job done, or keep playing it safe with your merry band of rule-followers?”

He straightens up, his gaze never leaving yours. "Skull-face, huh?" he replies dryly. "You think that name bothers me?" He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You're not the first to try to get under my skin." He steps back, his eyes glinting with a dangerous edge. He crosses his arms again, studying you closely.

You snort at his response. "Now, don't get me wrong, I simply just don't know what your name is. Until you introduce yourself to me properly, well, 'skull-face' it is." You give him an annoyed look, remembering how he just brought you in here with no pleasantries whatsoever.

He chuckles softly, the sound sending a chill down your spine. "Fair enough," he concedes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He takes a deep breath, contemplating his next words. "Names aren't important in our line of work," he says finally. "But since you asked so nicely, you may call me...Ghost."

A loud, audible chuckle escapes your lips as he mentions his name. "Ghost? Really? You think that sounds cool or so—"

But then it hits you, and your laughter dies mid-sentence. The callsign is strikingly familiar, and suddenly, the pieces fall into place. You let out a heavy groan, frustration washing over you.

In this line of work, you hear a lot about the big players, whether they’re on the right side or the wrong side of the law. Whispers swirl around powerful individuals, and one name always stands out: Task Force 141. Rumor has it they’re a unit of some of the most skilled soldiers, and one particular figure has earned a notorious reputation. A man who wears a skull balaclava and goes by the callsign 'Ghost'. Stories of his exploits send shivers down the spine of those who hear them.

Now that you’ve connected the dots, your previous confidence evaporates. The realization that you’re in the custody of this man sends a chill down your spine. The idea of wriggling free from his grasp suddenly seems a lot more daunting.

"Ah, so you're that 'Ghost'," you manage to say, the cockiness in your voice significantly dimmed.

He watches as your demeanor shifts upon hearing his name, and a smug sense of satisfaction fills him. He nods slowly, letting you process the information. "You might want to reconsider your choices," he warns, his voice low and serious. "You're in, whether you like it or not." He cuts off your restraints, freeing you.

You stretch your arms, letting out a sigh of relief. You get up from the seat, and you walk towards him, stopping right in front of him. His towering figure does not intimidate you at all.

"Just this one time. After I'm done being your lapdog, I'm out of here. Give me your word," you say commandingly.

Ghost studies you for a moment, your boldness surprising him.

"Very well," he agrees, holding out his hand. "One job, then you're free to go. But know this," he adds, his gaze hardening, "if you try to pull anything, I will make sure your name becomes nothing more than a whisper in the wind." Ghost's voice holds an underlying threat, but there's also a hint of intrigue.

Now that you know who he is, you no longer find it in you to scoff at his threats. You just silently stare at him, not saying a word any further as you accept his hand.

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Ghost remains silent as he leads you through the dimly lit corridors of the base, his mind working overtime, processing the unexpected turn of events. He hates being cornered, but something about your tenacity intrigues him. Upon reaching your designated quarters, he opens the door and motions for you to enter.

"Get some rest," he orders gruffly. "We leave at first light." Once you're inside, he closes the door behind you.

Relieved that the room includes a bathroom, you quickly take a shower, dressing in one of the spare outfits provided once you're done. You lie in the darkness of the room, attempting to ignore the creaks and hums of the unfamiliar environment, your mind drifting back to the mission, replaying every detail.

The plan had been flawless—or at least, that’s what Aegis led you to believe. They sent you in, banking on the fact that the SAS and Kozlov’s men would be too focused on tearing each other apart to notice you slipping in through the chaos. You'd timed it perfectly, darting through darkened hallways, avoiding the sounds of gunfire echoing down the corridors as you closed in on the server room.

The data was right where the intel said it’d be, and for a moment, you actually thought you’d pull it off without a hitch. You were halfway through the upload, the light on your drive flashing as it sucked in everything Aegis needed, little by little. The noise outside was just enough to cover the hum of the servers, your fingers poised, watching the data percentage tick up.

Then you felt it—that prickle on the back of your neck. Before you could even look, a shadow moved behind you, and the next thing you knew, a hand was on you, dragging you backward. You’d spun around, aiming to get the drop on him, but you barely managed a step before Ghost countered, deflecting every strike you threw. It was like hitting stone—unyielding, relentless. For every blow you threw, he responded faster and stronger.

You’d landed a few hits—felt the contact, heard his grunt—but it didn’t faze him for a second. Within minutes, you were pinned, arms behind your back, his grip ironclad. He didn’t even say a word, just hauled you up and marched you out, tossing your drive onto the floor like a discarded toy.

And now, here you are, lying in this cold, uncomfortable bed, running the event over in your head, wondering where exactly you went wrong.

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The following morning, Ghost knocks sharply on your door. When you open it, he sizes you up, noting your disheveled appearance. "Get changed," he commands, tossing a duffel bag at your feet, likely containing a fresh set of tactical gear in your size. "Mission briefing in fifteen minutes."

At the briefing, with everyone assembled on time, Ghost stands in front of a map, tracing a route over marked points as he speaks in a low, direct voice. “Alright, listen up. We’ve got a solid lead on Kozlov’s next location—a small compound just outside Grozny. Intel says he’s regrouping there with a skeleton crew. This isn’t one of his main bases, so we’re catching him at his most vulnerable.”

He glances around the room, making sure everyone’s focused. “We’re hitting hard and fast. The objective’s simple: we move in, locate Kozlov, and secure him. The area’s got minimal cover, but we’ll use the terrain to our advantage—come in from the east, using the tree line for our approach. Once we’re in, expect close-quarters combat. Kozlov’s men are few, but they’ll be armed to the teeth. Any questions?”

He pauses, scanning each face, his gaze briefly resting on you—a silent reminder of what’s at stake. “If we do this right, we’ll have Kozlov in cuffs by morning.”

As the briefing continues, your mind wanders to what comes next, once you’re out of SAS custody. You know that once this is over, things with Aegis won’t exactly be...friendly. They don’t take lightly to mercenaries who fumble, let alone those who end up in SAS hands. You’ll have to move fast, probably disappear, setting up somewhere under Aegis’s radar. Burn what few bridges you have left and start fresh—they don’t offer second chances to those who ‘compromise’ a job. Now, with the SAS using you as leverage, you’re as good as a loose end in their eyes.

Your gaze shifts back to Ghost, but he doesn’t notice, focused on the mission. To him, you’re just a tool—a temporary means to an end. Fine by me, you think. You just need to get through this. Once you’re free of their watch, it’ll be time to disappear.

As Ghost wraps up the briefing, Captain Price gives him a light tap on the shoulder, acknowledging a solid plan, then dismisses everyone. But Ghost’s gaze locks on you, silently signaling for you to stay behind.

When the others leave, he walks closer, standing tall over you. "What's on your mind?" he asks, his voice low and gruff, betraying none of the suspicion in his eyes. He noticed after all.

He leans forward, his gloved hands resting on the table, his presence imposing. He expects an answer, and he’s not accepting anything less than the truth.

You shift under his gaze, catching the intensity in his eyes. He’s watching too closely, looking for any sign of hesitation.

Your gaze drops to his shoulder, and you keep your tone casual. “It’s nothing,” you say, your expression unreadable. “Just keeping tabs on the mission, same as everyone else.” You shrug, crossing your arms, leaning back as if his scrutiny doesn’t faze you.

But the tension hangs thick, and his eyes stay on you, probing for cracks. He’s expecting something more, but you hold steady, giving him nothing. Just another merc playing the part—for now.

Ghost narrows his eyes, clearly not fooled. "Don’t play games with me. I don’t have the time or patience," he says firmly, a hint of a growl in his voice. "I’ve seen your type before—always thinking they’re smarter than the rest. But I promise you, testing my limits isn’t in your best interest." He leans in, his skull balaclava inches from your face. "I know you’re plotting something. If it’s against us, you’ll regret it." He straightens, his expression hard. Then, turning to leave, he issues his last command.

“Be ready in ten. We’re moving out.” He exits, casting one final, critical glance over his shoulder, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

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The night is thick with tension as you and the team approach the compound, faint lights flickering through the trees. You stick to the shadows, keeping a step ahead, while Ghost’s voice crackles in your ear, the only reminder you’re not alone. “Stay in formation,” he says in a clipped tone. “Just because you’re tagging along doesn’t mean you get to run off and play hero.”

You grit your teeth, ignoring his tone as you press forward. The plan is simple: sweep through, locate Kozlov, and secure him before he slips away. Gunfire erupts as the task force breaches the compound with their backup unit, everyone moving in sync while you keep to the edges, taking down guards with quick, silent strikes. But as the chaos unfolds, you catch sight of something—a narrow back stairwell leading out of the main area.

You slip through, already guessing where Kozlov is likely headed. If I’m right, I can cut him off before he even knows what hit him. You move quickly, your steps silent on the metal stairs, reaching the next floor and rounding a corner—only to nearly collide with Kozlov himself.

The second he sees you, he bolts, diving into the shadows. You raise your weapon, prepared to take him down. Ghost’s voice buzzes through the comms. “Report. Fall back to the main corridor.”

But you don’t listen; your focus is locked on Kozlov. He darts down a hallway, and you’re right on his heels, firing off a few shots that barely miss.

Suddenly, a strong hand clamps down on your shoulder, yanking you back. You spin around to meet Ghost’s glare, his jaw clenched in frustration. “You just couldn’t follow simple orders, could you?” His voice is ice-cold, and the disdain in his eyes is unmistakable.

You shrug off his grip, anger sparking. “If you’d just let me, we’d have Kozlov by now. I know his methods; he was one step ahead of your ‘perfect’ plan.”

“My plan doesn’t involve risking the mission for a mercenary who’s only here because she got caught.” His tone is biting, but before you can fire back, a gunshot echoes from the corridor ahead.

Both of you turn, watching as Kozlov slips through a hidden exit, vanishing into the night. Ghost swears under his breath, casting a look at you that’s a mix of anger and frustration. There’s no time to argue, and you both know it—but as Kozlov escapes, it’s clear Ghost won’t be letting this go anytime soon.

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The tension lingers all the way back to base, thick and unyielding. You can practically feel Ghost’s anger radiating as you step into the debriefing room. He barely waits for the door to close before he rounds on you, voice low and cutting.

“You just couldn’t stick to the bloody plan, could you?” he growls, his gaze cold. “You had one job—follow orders. But instead, you nearly compromised the entire mission. Kozlov slipped because of you.”

You cross your arms, not backing down. “Compromised the mission? I was the only one thinking on my feet. Your ‘perfect plan’ left Kozlov with an escape route I could’ve closed if you’d trusted me.”

“Trusted you?” He barks out a harsh laugh. “You’re here because you got caught, not because we need you. This isn’t a team exercise where you get a say. You don’t belong here—you’re only here out of mercy, and yet you keep acting like you know better than the people who do.”

Your jaw tightens, heat rising. “Unlike you, I’m not here for loyalty points, Ghost. You kept me because I know Kozlov’s methods. But when I try to use that knowledge, you shut me down.”

He steps closer, his voice dropping dangerously. “You think this is some mercenary gig where you’re the only one with skin in the game? Kozlov got away because you decided to act like a lone wolf. End of story.”

Your fists clench as you hold your ground. “Kozlov got away because you’re too caught up in hierarchy to recognize a good call when you see one. Face it, you’d rather let him slip than admit a merc might have a better idea than your so-called Task Force.”

Ghost’s jaw clenches as he glares at you, the air crackling with tension.

“You’re out of line,” he mutters, his voice low and full of warning. “Next time you pull something like that, I won’t bother hauling you back. You’ll be out there on your own—with nothing but Aegis breathing down your neck. Understood?”

You meet his glare, forcing yourself to stay steady. So he knows what fate awaits you after all of this. Of course he does. He's sharp.

“...Clear,” you reply, your voice cold. But you both know neither of you is letting this go.

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The morning drags on, with the wait for fresh intel on Kozlov stretching endlessly. Ghost’s words from last night still echo in your mind—“You’re here because you got caught, not because we need you.” As if you needed the reminder.

Stuck at the base with nowhere to go, you head to the training field. They won’t let you leave the perimeter, not while you're under their watch, so you decide to make use of the open space. You start running laps, each step an outlet for the irritation simmering inside.

The cold air bites, grounding you in the steady rhythm of your breath and the burn in your muscles. At least here, you don’t need anyone’s permission. A few passing soldiers give you curious looks, probably wondering why an “asset” like you is still around. But you push those thoughts aside, focusing on the field.

As you round another lap, you catch sight of Ghost by the railing, arms crossed, watching you with that unreadable gaze. You keep running, refusing to let his presence disrupt your focus. But it’s clear he’s not here just to watch. Eventually, you slow to a jog, then a walk, meeting his gaze with a silent, unspoken challenge.

“Working off last night’s steam?” he asks, tone sharp, as if testing you. There’s a hint of something else there—maybe curiosity, or that familiar Ghost-brand amusement.

You wipe sweat from your forehead, catching your breath. “Something like that. Figured I’d make use of the time since I’m not going anywhere.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t peg you as the type to sit around waiting for orders.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Not much of a choice, is there? Last time I did things my way, you made it crystal clear why I’m here—to do your dirty work and get out. I’m not wasting energy pretending otherwise.”

His expression hardens slightly. “As long as you’re under our watch, you follow our lead. Whether you like it or not.”

You glance away, jaw tight, staring out at the field. “Trust me, I’m not here for team-building, Ghost. I’m here because it’s the quickest way out of your custody.”

A flicker of something—irritation, maybe—crosses his face, but he holds his gaze steady. “Then don’t make it harder than it needs to be. Kozlov’s all that matters right now.”

You don’t respond, just push past him and keep running. He doesn’t need to say anything else; you both know you’re not about to play the compliant asset. And as long as that’s clear, you’ll do what you have to—your way.

The intel finally comes through a few hours later, and the team assembles in the briefing room. The air is tense, thick with the urgency that always hangs before a mission. Captain Price stands at the front, a holographic map flickering beside him, casting an eerie glow over the room.

He gestures to a marked point on the map. “We’ve got eyes on Kozlov. He’s holed up in a safehouse just outside Nizhny Novgorod. Remote location, minimal personnel—keeping it small to avoid detection. But make no mistake, he’s got backup on call, so we need to be fast and hit hard.”

He pauses, letting it sink in before nodding to Ghost, who steps forward to take over. Ghost navigates through the map. “We’ll split into two teams. Bravo will handle perimeter control, keeping his reinforcements at bay. Alpha goes in through the main entry.” His eyes flick briefly to you, his tone unyielding. “That’s you. You’ll breach with me and clear a path. Once inside, we secure Kozlov. No deviation, no solo heroics. Understood?”

He doesn’t wait for responses, focusing back on the map. “Timing is critical. We’re on a tight window, so the moment we hit the ground, we move. Any questions?”

The room is silent, everyone aware of the stakes. Ghost’s gaze lingers on you a second longer, reinforcing his unspoken warning. This time, you nod curtly, already running through the plan in your head. The sooner this is over, the sooner you’re one step closer to freedom.

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The mission starts smoothly enough. Under cover of darkness, the teams approach Kozlov’s safehouse on foot, moving quickly and keeping low. Bravo team takes position around the perimeter, silently eliminating the sparse guards posted on the outskirts, while Ghost, you, and a few others on Alpha team make your way toward the main entrance.

As planned, you breach the door and slip inside. Ghost signals for you to split up, both of you sweeping the narrow hallways and checking each room. It’s quiet—too quiet, almost like Kozlov is baiting you. Your instincts buzz with a sense that something’s off, but there’s no time to dwell on it.

You clear the first floor quickly, then move up the creaky staircase to the second. Ghost leads the way, moving with controlled urgency. As he rounds a corner toward a reinforced door at the end of the hall, it happens—an explosion. A tripwire, hidden under a loose floorboard, detonates. The blast rips through the hall, sending Ghost flying backward. He slams into the wall, dust and smoke filling the air.

“Ghost!” you shout, ducking for cover, the ringing in your ears nearly deafening. Through the haze, you see him slumped against the wall, struggling to stay conscious, blood trickling down his forehead.

A flicker of movement catches your eye—one of Kozlov’s men, sneaking up behind Ghost with a knife. Your heart races, instincts taking over as you spring forward. Drawing your own blade, you lunge at the attacker, catching him off guard. You manage to twist the knife from his grip before he can strike. With a swift, decisive shove, you send him sprawling, finishing him off with one clean motion.

Breathing hard, you crouch beside Ghost, gripping his shoulder firmly. “You good to move?” you ask, your voice sharp but steady. His eyes clear just enough to focus on you, and he manages a slight nod, though he’s visibly shaken.

He takes a shaky breath, forcing out a half-growl. “Didn’t think… you’d bother.”

You roll your eyes, slipping an arm under his to help him up. “Yeah, well, we’re not done here. Let’s get you out alive first—then we can argue about it.”

With Ghost steadying himself, you both push forward, weaving through the remaining chaos to regroup with the others. The safehouse is cleared shortly after, but Kozlov is nowhere to be found—it was a decoy. Not the outcome you wanted, but you’re both alive.

And, at least for now, Ghost owes you one.

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Back at the base, the adrenaline from the mission has faded, leaving an unsettling quiet in its wake. You step outside, seeking a moment of calm in the cool night air. The stars flicker above, but they do little to soothe the turmoil in your mind. You can’t shake the image of Ghost slumped against the wall, blood trailing down his face.

Leaning against the cold metal of the building, you’re lost in thought when you hear footsteps approaching. You look up to see Ghost walking toward you, his gait slightly uneven, a fresh bandage wrapped around his head. His gaze is sharp, unwavering, all business.

“You should be resting,” you say, trying to keep any lingering irritation from your tone.

He shrugs, a faint, almost mocking smile visible beneath his mask. “Rest doesn’t come easy. Figured I’d check on you after today’s fiasco.”

“Fiasco?” You raise an eyebrow. “You nearly got yourself killed out there, and I had to save your ass.”

“True.” He crosses his arms, something resembling respect flickering in his eyes. “But you acted out of turn. That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“And what was I supposed to do? Watch you get stabbed?” You shake your head. “I’m not just some disposable asset.”

“Right,” he says, his tone hardening. “You’re still a merc, and I’m not sure where you fit in all this. Just curious—what makes you tick?”

You narrow your eyes, thrown by his sudden interest. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, why do you do this? You didn’t get into this line of work for the glory. What’s your story?” He leans against the wall, studying you like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle.

You hesitate, debating how much to let him in. “Does it matter? You don’t see me as anything but a pawn.”

“Maybe.” There’s an edge of sincerity in his voice that surprises you. “But you saved my life today. I’d like to know who I’m working with.”

You cross your arms, defensive but resigned. “Fine. I got into this for survival, for the money. Aegis found me on the fringes, and I’ve been making my way through the chaos ever since.”

He nods, taking in your words. “And what happens when Aegis finds out you’re working with us? Think they’ll just let you walk away?”

You shrug, a bitter laugh slipping out. “If I don’t find a way out soon, I’ll be in deep trouble. But I’m not worried about their opinion. Life’s unpredictable; this is just how things ended up.”

He studies you for a long moment, the weight of his gaze intense. “I know you saved me today, but don’t expect any favors.”

“Trust me, Ghost, I won’t be asking for any,” you reply, a mix of defiance and resolve settling in your voice.

The silence stretches, the night air heavy with unspoken words. You know you’ll have to carve your own path, but this unexpected exchange has shifted something between you. As you look back at the stars, you can’t help but wonder where this uneasy alliance might lead.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ -

Author's Note: my upload schedule will likely be on weekends since I work full-time (rip). some updates might even come a few days earlier if I finish proofreading faster. hopefully, the first chapter has grabbed your attention! if you have any questions, feel free to submit them on my ask box, it’s always open!

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sunflower567 · 2 months ago

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Callsign: Umbra Chapter 13: The Specter Under the Darkness

Masterlist

Word Count: 3,036

Edited: ✅

Published: May 2nd, 2025

Last update/change: June 7th, 2025

Previous Chapter

Marine Raider Training Center, Camp Lejeune, North Carolina: 9:00 PM

After finishing up in the gym, Ghost, Soap, Umbra, and Alpha went back to their rooms to clean up and meet Price and Gaz in their living space. By now, Laswell had already left to return to D.C., having other missions and operations to supervise.

Now, sitting on the mismatched furniture that was put together in the team room, Ghost and Soap informed Price about Davis approaching Imani.

“Of fucking course he did,” Price sighed in frustration, rubbing his face in exhaustion.

“But that can’t be all it right,” Imani began, “I mean, I can handle Davis in a coma. So why do I need an escort all of a sudden?”

“The joint military training event, that’s why,” Price answered.

“The what,” Imani asked, looking around in confusion, “Ah, I forgot, yeah, that's the second biggest event here after graduation. Who is it this time? Air force? Army? Navy? Coast Guard? Who is it?”

“None of those,” Ghost answered, “They’re PMCs.”

“PMCs,” Imani exclaimed in disgust, “Who the fuck invited them?”

“Not a fan of PMCs huh,” Soap laughed because of the look on her face.

“Not really,” Imani said matter-of-factly.

Her father warned them about PMCs when she and her brothers joined the military. He called them wannabe soldiers who wanna fight without rules. And if need be, they’d leave those in uniform for dead.

Even though she met some PMCs who were nice to work with, she always kept an eye on them, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But there was a new group she had the misfortune of working with. She had to work with them and their smooth-mouthed boss for a month and a half, especially since he loved hanging around and flirting with her, even though she was 21 and he was older than her oldest brothers at 34.

Imani remembered the relief she felt when she was finally granted an exchange. “Creepy ass, light brown haired ass, blue eyed bastard,” Imani mumbled as she remebred that asshole’s face and worse of all, his personality.

“What was that,” Kyle asked.

“Nothing,” Imani said quickly, “Who is it?”

“It’s KorTac,” Price answered.

“Oh thank god,” Imani sighed in relief as she held her heart.

“Who’d you think it was,” Soap asked.

“Not important anymore because it ain’t him,” Imani smiled, “So what’s the issue?”

“Because we’ll have outsiders, we believe that whoever is coming after could use this to their advantage,” Price explained, “So we need you to stay with Alpha and one of us. No expectations. But for now, it’ll be just you and Ghost, so stick close to him.”

“Huh,” both Simon and Imani exclaimed.

“Bloody hell, the both of you,” Price marvelled at how the two were basically in sync, "Shepherd called while the three of you were at the gym. He asked Gaz and me to investigate a suspected nationalist, and Soap was requested to help an old comrade of mine with a situation. So you start getting ready to head out, yeah? And dress warm.”

“Aye,” Soap replied, getting up from his chair and heading towards his room.

Price then turns his attention to Imani and Simon, “So, Umbra, Ghost will stay here to protect you. So please, stay with him. No sneaking out.”

“Yes, sir,” Imani groaned, “Will I be confined here?”

“Over my dead body,” Price chuckled, "Ghost will be in charge of continuing the training of the recruits here. You and Alpha will be joining him.”

Looking at each other, Imani and Simon groaned, rolled their eyes, and looked away. After what happened today at the gym, neither of them was looking forward to this alone time in the slightest. If anything, this felt like fate laughing at them.

“Well, don’t look too excited, yeah,” Price laughed at the two of them, "We shouldn’t be gone for long, nothing longer than two weeks. We should be back well before the training event starts to meet with KorTec's command staff and operatives.”

Not long after, Imani, Ghost, and Alpha had the pleasure of watching the three other members of their little crew leave them.

As they watched the plane leave and eventually out of sight, the two just had one thought: ‘This is gonna be a long week.’

Looking down at the woman who stood below his shoulders, Simon sighed and asked, “You’re not gonna go easy on me, are ya?”

“No, not in the slightest, no,” Imani smiled up at him with a wicked smile, “I’m gonna have some fun with this.”

That declaration began the longest two weeks these two soldiers had in mind.

The Next Morning: 6:00 AM

Like Price said, Imani and Simon’s job was to keep up with the recruits' training. Since being here, Imani has had little to no contact with them. So for most, this was their first time seeing the supposed owner of the wolf that’s been chasing them for training.

Based on what Soap and Gaz said about them, they thought it would be some badass guy who's seen the worst humanity had to offer. A true soldier. But none of the boys expected to see a woman. Much less with the wolf that’s been giving them hell for the last few days.

“Good morning, privates,” Imani began, her voice loud and proud over the foggy air, “My name is Sergeant Imani Barnes. Callsign Umbra. For the next few days, Lieutenant Ghost and I will be in charge of your training for the joint military training event. Since I was once in your shoes and won against the Army in my event, I have nothing but the highest expectations for you and expect you all to win this upcoming event. No expectations. And the same could be said for Lieutenant.”

As Imani continued to speak about what they could expect over the next few days, Ghost watched some of the soldiers' reactions. He knew that even though most guys who come through here understand that regardless of background, gender, or whatever, you're all considered family. But he knew some can’t put that to the side, and as he looked across each row of these fresh soldiers who never once saw combat, he saw a fw who were genuinely listening to her and taking everything in. But he also saw one private whispering something in another's ear, causing them and those around them to chuckle.

“Oi,” Simon called out, interrupting Imani and having all eyes to look at him, but he kept his eyes on the one who was talking, “You two have somethin' to say?”

“Sir, no, sir,” the privates yelled.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Simon argued back, “See me after we dismiss.”

With that, Imani finished what she said and broke them all into teams. All but one.

“What was that about,” Imani asked the tall brooding man.

“He had something funny to say,” Ghost began, "I want to hear it since it was so important to say it during your debrief.”

Imani knew what he was talking about. She noticed them laughing almost the entire time she was talking. She was going to be harsh on them during their training, but then Ghost called one of them. So when the two approached them, Imani and Simon had a no-nonsense air around them.

“So,” Imani began, “We both saw you two boys chopping it up in formation? Mind letting us in on the joke?”

“Uh,” the one who was caught laughing began, “It was nothing-”

“Oh no, it’s obviously something since you had to say it while I was talking. So say it.”

“Listen, Umbra-” the one who said the joke began.

“That’s ma’am to you, private,” Ghost interrupted, his voice hard and firm, “Don’t forget she outranks you by a mile. Now answer the fucking question.”

“It was just something I heard, sir,” he replied.

“What are your names privates,” Imani asked.

“Private Matthew Dehart ma’am,” The one who told the joke answered.

“And you?”

“Private Robert Rounds, ma’am.”

“Dehart, Rounds, let me give you a little word of advice,” Imani began, stepping closer. Even though both boys were at 5'10 and 6'0 respectively, and Imani was only 5’6, the boys felt intimidated by her presence and how she stared them down. It was like a mother reminding her kids who’s boss.

“My job is to make sure you're prepared for the expected and unexpected. If you wanna go out there and die and have your mothers bury you, by all means. But I will not, have you two buffoons poor self control reflect bad on me.”

“Ma’am”

“Did I say you can speak,” Imani began, “Until you graduate from this program you are nothing more than my bitch, so you only speak when I say so. Now tell me, what the fuck was so funny that you couldn’t wait until you were dismiss. Right fucking now.”

The whole time she went off on the two, Ghost just watched. To everyone, he was just an unmoving statue that looked at this display with a neutral face that gave nothing away. But beneath that exterior, he’d lie to say he wasn’t a little turned on. He always loved a woman with authority. Especially one who wasn’t afraid to use it. And right now, how she got these two boys looking was enough to impress him.

“It was a joke another soldier told us and a bunch of other guys here ma’am,” Rounds answered.

“What was it? Private Dehart, repeat it. To my face.”

Dehart hesitated for a moment, but he knew the longer he kept silent the worse it was gonna be, “You think she’ll still be barking orders if General Barnes wasn’t her daddy or using that big ass of hers, ma’am.”

Imani wasn’t shocked about the ass part, she’s heard that since basic. But the daddy part, now that pissed her off more than anything. She tries to keep her father down low. She wants her accomplishments to speak for themselves, not to have her father to thank. So, for a bunch of snot-nosed privates to know who her father is should be next to impossible. Unless-

‘Davis,’ both Imani and Simon thought in anger.

“Ma’am, we’re so-” Rounds began.

“I don’t wanna hear your half ass apologies,” Imani interrupted, “If you're truly sorry, you’d never have repeated it.”

The two soldiers didn’t know what to do. They knew better than to beg Ghost to help them out. But they fought tooth and nail to get here, and they weren’t going to make this mistake ruin them. But before they could say anything plead their case, Imani said, “If your really sorry, then you’ll win this event and beat those PMCs asses!”

That caused both to pause and look at her in confusion.

“Ma’am?”

“Tell me, how old are both of you?”

“We’re 19, ma’am,” Rounds answered.

“Old enough to know better, but young enough to listen to those who don’t have your best interest at heart,” Imani began, “I won’t say what you said wasn’t insulting. That’d be a lie. But as someone who was once in your shoes, I understand how these types of things can get around. But in the future, know when to open your mouth and when not to. That can be the difference between you going home yourself or in a body bag.”

“Ma’am, yes ma’am,” The two said in unison.

“Good,” Imani said.

“Don’t let this happen again, you understand,” Ghost said, speaking for the first time in a while.

“Does that mean we’re still-”

“For now,” Ghost answered, getting so close the two boys had to crank their heads up to look him in the eyes, “But if I hear this type of language from you to blokes again, I’ll have your ranks. We clear?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“Good,” Imani answered, “Were you provided with bite suits by chance?”

“We were, ma’am,” Dehart answered as he and Rounds moved their collars so she could see the suits underneath their uniforms.

“Good,” Imani smiled, “I’m gonna give ya a ten-second head start. Consider this your punishment.”

Before they could question what, Imani whistled a quiet and fast tune. That was when they saw the Alpha, who hadn’t moved much since the beginning, start to get up. With a yawn, he walked over to Imani and sat beside her.

“Ready for your chase down, buddy,” Imani smiled sweetly at him, scratching the back of his ears. Looking back towards the boys, who now had a horrified look on their faces, Imani still had that smile and look of glee in her eyes. And to the boys' absolute horror, she began to count down.

Wasting no time, the two boys ran as fast as they could in the obstacle course. Once she hit one, Imani pointed to the two in the distance and told Alpha to fetch.

As he rushed ahead to handle that, Imani and Simon looked at one another.

“Davis is a problem Lt,” Imani said.

“Yeah,” Simon agreed, “I’ll have to have another chat with him.”

“We both do,” Imani corrected.

“You sure you wanna be in this?”

“I already am in this Ghost,” Imani stared up at him, “At this point, I’m one second away from putting him in his place.”

Ghost and Imani continued to observe and guide the trainees through their training by making a sound that sounded like a mixture of a huff and a chuckle. If they failed to complete their task, Alpha had the time of his life while they all screamed in fear of the terrifying jaws of a wolf dragging them back to his owner for a verbal beatdown.

But as the day went on and they continued to observe the recruits, Imani’s anger grew. So when Ghost finally dismissed everyone, the two wasted no time and went to where Davis was currently working on base.

Administration Office: 6:00 PM

After leaving the training grounds, Ghost and Umbra began to walk to Davis’s current position as an administrative assistant in the base's headquarters.

The two stormed into the building, ignoring all questions thrown at them. Especially Imani. But once she caught sight of the man, Imani stalked over to him and socked him right in the face with all her strength. She heard a satisfying crack after the impact. She broke his nose.

“WHAT THE HELL,” Davis yelled, holding onto his now bloody nose.

“YOU GOT A LOT OF SHIT TO SAY BEHIND MY BACK DAVIS,” Imani yelled as she grabbed him by the front of his uniform, “WHY DON’T YOU SAY IT TO MY FUCKING FACE HUH?”

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OUT HERE,” The base commander, Colonel Samuel Wiley, came out of his office and looked at his second lieutenant being handled by the most talked-about sergeant on base.

“Lieutenant,” Wiley looked to Ghost, “Please explain to me why your sergeant has her hands on my assistant?”

“'Cause it looks like your assistant can’t catch a hint,” Ghost answered, never taking his eyes off of Davis, “Did I tell you to leave her alone?”

“You told me to stay away from her, never said anything about telling everyone how much of a daddy’s girl she was. Hell, I’m sure she and daddy dearest loved taking baths together huh?”

That had Imani seeing red. Bringing him closer, Imani delivered one of the most satisfying (for her) and devastating (for everyone else watching) headbuts right in the nose. That caused the man to cry out even more in pain, but he was then kicked in the chest that knocked him on his ass.

Moving her hair out of her face, Imani never took her eyes off of him, “Alpha! Pin!”

Before anyone could react, Alpha was on top of Davis, his front paws pressing down painfully on the place where Imani kicked him. Davis was lying in shock because right on top of him was a grey wolf with its teeth bared, and drool was coming trickling out. Waiting for the command to bite.

“You see now,” Imani said, kneeling down next to him, a look of pure animosity and disgust all over her face, "This is what I can do if I really want to. I don’t need my dad to put a pathetic, insignificant, spineless man like yourself in your place.”

“You-”

A quick and hard smack across his face had him quiet. "HEY! SPEAKING TO ME IS A PRIVILEGE! YOU DO NOT HAVE PRIVILEGES!”

The only thing he could do was look at her in anger, while everyone but Simon looked on in shock.

“Now then, let me tell you how this is gonna go,” Imani began, her voice stern, “I’m gonna move past the incestuous comment you just made about me and my father, a four-star general. Because if I think any more of it, I may give Alpha the order. So be grateful that you didn’t use the last of my patience. Moving forward, from now on, you’ll be living as a walking corpse. To me, my team, and even the rats in the mess hall. I don’t want to hear about you, I don’t want to see you, hell, I don’t even want to hear you breathe. Because if I hear one more comment about me from your dirty mouth, I won’t hold Alpha back, and he’ll tear out your throat before you can even scream.”

Not waiting for an answer or comment, Imani lifted herself off the floor and looked towards Colonel Wiley. "Sorry for the disruption, Colonel. I hope you enjoy your night. Alpha, back!”

Hearing the command, Alpha gave the man one last growl and got off him.

With that, Imani walked out of HQ, shocking the others inside.

Simon looked to Davis like a disappointed father, “I told ya. Now look at ya.”

Looking back towards Wiley, Simon said, “Keep that trollop in line. Because neither me nor our Captain will reprimand her or hold her back.”

With that, Simon left the HQ, right behind Imani. But the whole way out, Simon couldn’t help but chuckle. ‘Man, what a woman!’

Next: Chapter 14