Chapter Text
"Yesterday at 6:36 am, a Scottish soldier by the name of Sergeant John 'Soap' Mactavish was killed in action while saving dozens of civilians. During his heroic actions, a fire broke out and it is believed that he was unfortunately caught in the flames." A reporter said, a frown etched on their face as they cleared their throat and shuffled some papers together before they spoke again.
"And a U.K soldier, Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley is missing in action after going back into the flames to find the Sergeant. Their captain, John Price, was reported trying to stop the Lieutenant but he refused to obey command. Simon 'Ghost' Riley does not currently have a photo but he is described to have blonde hair, brown eyes, a scar under his right eye, and to be 6 '4."
The three men looked at one another, waiting for the others to speak while not daring to say anything themselves. The one in the middle shrugged and grabbed the remote, turning the TV up a little higher. The light coming from the TV lit up the break room if only by a little, making it easier to see how everyone shifted uncomfortably.
"If you have any clues to the location of Riley, we stress that you call 020-7782-1010. Anything is helpful in the current moment. As for John Mactavish, we all wish his family well." And with that, the reporter moved some papers to the side. "Now, we aren't entirely sure what caused the horrific fire but we suspect-"
He couldn't watch this anymore. "Oh for fucks sake, this is depressing!" 3-1 groaned before ripping the remote from his teammates hands to change to a new channel, ignoring the glares from the other two men. In his defense, "The news lies even in circumstances like these, it's bull. If I die, I want people to know what really happened, especially my wife." He ranted, gesturing towards the TV with a glare and completely missing how the furthest Shadow, 6-4, looked at him with pity.
"Well, what else were they gonna say? They don't even know we were there so it's only natural they think the Scottish asshole burned to death." 4-2 stated, crossing his arms when 3-1 opened his mouth to argue before snapping it shut and looked away.
"You make it sound as if we were the ones to cause the accident." 6-4 muttered in amusement, putting a hand over his mouth to cover his smile. "We were lucky we weren't spotted either but we shouldn't be too happy yet, if the Sergeant and Lieutenant were to escape the holding cells… man. Don't even wanna think about it." He said, a shiver going up his spine as he spoke.
4-2, however, chuckled at those words and shrugged. "We'll be fine, you know the Commander's plans. When has he ever failed?" He said as if it was as obvious as day. "The commander has never let someone who wronged him walk away without consequences, either."
"Well, obviously, but you never know with those two." 3-1 groaned, leaning back into his seat while 4-2 snickered more light-heartedly at that, jabbing him in the side with his elbow. He let out a pained "ow!" And before he could exact his revenge, 6-4 interrupted them.
"By Friday we'll be at a bar and they will be six feet under in some desert, I don't think we need to worry." He said, standing up to stretch out his arms that cracked and popped with the movement. When he was done, he jabbed a thumb towards the clock on the wall. "Now come on, we should be heading to sleep. If Graves catches on we spent all night awake, we will be facing worse than anything Ghost could do to us."
"Oh yeah, he told us to sleep earlier than normal, didn't he?" 4-2 sighed then looked at 3-1 with a devilish grin. "You better hurry up and get your uniform from the gym."
The man's face fell at those words and he leaned his head against his seat, cursing at himself with every name under the sun. How could he forget his uniform at the lockers? "Shit! Well.. I can't do anything about it, it's already locked up." He whispered, staring up at the ceiling in defeat.
6-4's lips pressed together in a thin line. "I mean, I do have the keys to the gym." He admitted, taking out a keychain that has dozens of keys attached, all labeled with different numbers and letters from A to Z. "Just hurry it up, the gym key is B12." He tossed the keys in the man's general direction and smirked when he scrambled to catch them.
"Thanks. I don't owe you anything though." 3-1 said, straightening his posture and sandwiching the keys between his hands when he caught them, so 4-2 couldn't grab them from him. "Goodnight." He mumbled, quickly leaving. He would have to hurry in and out if he didn't want to get caught.
The halls of the Shadow Company were ironically darker than the night itself, he's lost count how many times he's been scared just from bumping into someone during a bathroom trip. He had bought mini flashlights once but they were all stolen over the course of two weeks by other Shadows. Frustrating but he understood, somewhat. Not to mention, the halls reeked of iron but he's gotten used to it by now, he couldn't be bothered to complain about it when it was the only hall to smell like it.
It's why he didn't notice the double doors that led to the holding cells were open, walking past them with a prey's level of obliviousness.
3-1 had a good memory, it was one of the few reasons why Graves favored him for missions and to be a squad leader, he was proud to have such a good memory even if he sucked at remembering things that happened five seconds ago.
He used his memory of the building to locate the gym with ease, only hitting a wall with his shoulders twice throughout the journey. 4-2 would no doubt be jealous of the new record, maybe even disbelieving.
After a bit of patting for the keyhole and forcing his eyes to adjust to the dark, he managed to unlock the door and walk inside. Turning on the light was a bit harder but he managed just fine, squinting once the lights came on. He was nearly shocked by how many dumbbells were scattered around the room, he looked at the stand that was supposed to be holding them all and frowned when he noticed that it broke. It was a miracle nobody heard them fall.
"Jesus fuck." 3-1 murmured, running a hand down his face. He would fix it tomorrow or put in an order for a new stand, he couldn't be bothered to deal with it tonight. He was both exhausted and mildly annoyed thanks to the past few days.
He hurried towards the locker rooms that were across the room, making sure to be careful where he stepped. Most of the dumbbells were 20 pounds or higher and he would rather not trip over them if it was possible.
When he entered the room, the light was already on and while that wouldn't have been suspicious in itself, something felt off. The atmosphere felt different, like someone else was occupying the space with him. His gut feelings have never been wrong before, especially in situations where he was alone.
"4-2?" He called out, mostly out of instinct since he's usually never gotten these types of emotions before, unless 4-2 had done something wrong or was going to do something stupid. A 'sixth sense' he called it, mostly as a joke.
After a moment of silence, he frowned and shook his head in disappointment. "4-2, I know you're here. You aren't funny." He said, his voice bouncing off the walls as he moved towards his locker. His hand balled into a fist around the keys, just in case.
Sitting down on the bench, he began to put in the code and found himself praying to the gods that his uniform was still inside. He knew 4-2 wouldn't remind him about something out of kindness alone, something irritating always stemmed from it. It wasn't uncommon for 4-2 to inconvenience others just because, but 3-1 is normally able to avoid his wrath, being friends with the biggest asshole in the company came with its perks but major downsides.
His weaknesses were out in the open for 4-2 but he wouldn't take advantage of them just for fun, usually. When he did, it was small insignificant things that only really served as a minor annoyance. Like making him go to the locker rooms for his uniform, only for his uniform to be in his room somewhere.
He let out a sigh of relief when he opened the locker to reveal his gear was still there along with his phone. Seems like he had nothing to worry about after all. 4-2 was nice, for once, and he hoped it would last.
Thump.
3-1 froze, his hands pulled away from the locker. He looked around for his teammates but there was nothing. "4-2?" He called out, his voice wavered for a split second but he quickly cleared his throat. "Quit messing with me." He demanded, waiting for some kind of answer like a dark chuckle or a sigh of irritation but all that came was silence, with the exception of the air conditioner running. That was unusual for 4-2, he never tried to push his pranks once he was caught, he was too proud for that.
He stood up and went to go look for his teammate instead but he didn't make it three steps before his brain finally processed a presence behind him, more specifically, a rush of footsteps getting close terrifyingly quick.
The sound of a metal pipe colliding with something echoed in the room before agonizing pain bloomed in the back of 3-1's head who tried to turn around but the person behind him kept whacking him with the pipe. They refused to stop until he was laying on the ground, groaning in pain.
"What the hell..?" He hissed, trying to block out the sound of his heartbeat racing in his ears. He forced his eyes to focus on the person that was patting him down for something, they were wearing a strangely familiar uniform that made him open his mouth in shock.
Ghost was standing over him and grabbing the keys that he had, inspecting them one by one with a laser-focused glare, not even sparing 3-1 a glance. He tried to scream but nothing came out, he could hear his own blood rushing through his veins and he was sure he was going to pass out.
"Prisoner escape-!" He began to yell but Ghost was quicker, hitting him once more with the pipe that made his vision blur.
"Speak and I'll kill you." He threatened, his voice raspy and heavy with hatred, his tone was like venom. A tone 3-1 never heard come from the Lieutenant of all people and he shouldn't be surprised but yet, he is.
Ghost whispered something to himself that was impossible for the Shadow to hear before he picked them up by the hair and dragged them towards a bathroom stall. They let out a hiss of pain and tried to struggle, and get their feet underneath them, but it felt impossible by how quickly they were moving. "Motherfucker.." They forced out.
He sneered and shoved the Shadow inside the stall with little care, watching them hit their head on the back of the cold, tiled wall. A loud crack resounded in the locker room and 3-1 froze at that new feeling in the back of his head. Something wet went down the nape of his neck.
He watched as Ghost left the scene without looking back, the keys jingling just for a split second before nothing but the air conditioner could be heard. It felt almost taunting.
Ghost ran back to the holding cells, his mind only focused on one thing. Getting back to base and getting Soap medical help before he joined the Shadow in death.
As soon as he entered, he could hear groans and moans of pain, it was almost enough to get him to falter in his pace. "Johnny?" He whispered while he turned the corner where two cells resided.
"Ghost!-" Soap broke out into a fit of coughs when he spoke, his body making an attempt to curl up on itself, with failure. It seemed like no matter how much he coughed, ash and dust would still be coming out. "Are we okay?" He asked, missing the sound of his cell opening and nearly jumped out of his skin when his wrist was grabbed.
"We will be, let's get the hell out first." He said and carefully put his Sergeant's arm over his shoulder, leading him towards the doors.
"Where will we go?" He asked, biting his tongue to stifle his grunts as they walked. Soap was exhausted from all the events in the last two days, he wasn't sure when the last time either of them slept.
Ghost went quiet as he thought about the question, his grip on Soap tightened. "I'll figure it out." He answered, he had no choice but to figure it out and have a plan. It depended on which base they were at, there would be a safehouse nearby that they could use before getting back home, at least Ghost hoped so. If no other issues arose during that time, that was unlikely in itself but anything was better than being killed. "Yeah, I'll figure it out. Don't worry, Johnny."
Soap hummed in acknowledgement and leaned further onto Ghost for support. His leg was killing him, it was almost worse than the time he was shot in the shoulder but not quite.
When they walked out into the hall, Soap bursted into coughs from how much dust was lingering in the air. He made an attempt to muffle his coughs but he quickly realized it was pointless. "Take your time." Ghost whispered as they made their way around the base. He had an idea where the exits would be but Shadow Company bases were unnaturally huge, just how many soldiers did one man need?
When Soap caught his breath, he took a second to look around the place the best he could in the dark. But alas, he was stuck with hanging onto Ghost for any sense of direction. A curse, but he blamed it on being injured.
Twenty minutes had gone by as they made an attempt to find a staircase or some kind of emergency exit but with each turn, it was like they went further into the base, even if it was the opposite.
Leaving was harder than Ghost initially thought, everything looked the same in the darkness, the walls and flooring was bare concrete, it made him wonder just how many people got lost in this place. They couldn't even find the sleeping quarters, something Ghost wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not.
They would find out soon enough.
Eventually, Ghost found an emergency exit but he wasn't one to get too excited about things like this. He helped Soap lean against the wall and began to look around the doorway, searching for some kind of sensor that would notify the Shadows of their escape, there was always a sensor.
"Johnny, how bad are you bleeding?"
"Hmm." A noncommittal hum came. How helpful.
"Soap." He hissed out, patting the walls for anything but it was completely flat. No camouflaged sensors.
"Slow, really slow. The bullets were..uh…" He trailed off when he looked down to inspect the damage, he could vomit just by the sight of it. He was shot from a pretty far distance, or at least it looked like it. The two bullets weren't far into his body, in fact the butt of one was sticking out and the other was only a little deeper. "God.."
"What? Tell me." Ghost ordered and Soap ignored him, groaning at how bad it was going to hurt in recovery, if he made it that far.
"It's preventing blood from escaping, I think. I don't know, all I know is that I can bloody see them."
"Great, okay. Thank you." He sighed and looked down at the floor, rubbing his temple to help him think. The sensors weren't on the sides nor the ground so logically, they could be on the ceiling even if that was unlikely. Ceiling sensors were too easy to spot if the person was careful enough.
So, he searched the ceiling and it didn't take long to spot a box on the doorway with a bright red light. It was laughably noticeable, he must've been too focused on Soap if he didn't see it. "We are going to have to run for it so get on me. I doubt we can just walk out the front door."
"Never know till you try." Soap offered, his voice sarcastic, while Ghost turned to him and bent down. "Better not drop me." He added
"Wouldn't dream of it." He said before wrapping his arms around the Sergeant's knees and lifting him onto his shoulder, listening to the small wheeze that escaped the man.
The alarms throughout the base blared to life, startling the soldiers awake. They all jumped out of their beds and scrambled for their gear, occasionally getting it mixed up with others. The few that were on night watch were already rushing towards the emergency exit, guns and flashlights in their hands.
But Ghost was already running to whatever cover he could find, which happened to be the forest that surrounded the base.
He made sure to scrub his footsteps out from the few mud puddles that were around, his grip on Soap never faltering for a second.