The Breath In Our Lungs

!!TW!! This chapter gets pretty graphic! So if you don't enjoy open chest cavity "surgery" and such then feel free to skip the ending of the chapter! !!TW!!

. . . .

Lost oxygen, missing breath. Someone give to me breath so that I might forever crave more. Deny me so that the final breath I receive from you will grant me a truer death laid on the bed of your breath. My final send off.

. . . .

… Picked Pieces… 

Ghost awoke groggily, his surroundings unfamiliar, he was laying in a bed and he could hear the chatter of noise outside the room. Soldiers walking to and from places, he stared half-lidded at the wall, feeling hollow as his mind replayed all the different ways his family had met their fate. How afraid they must have been, how much had the killer terrorized them before finishing it? Did the killer mock them and tell them that Simon was the one to blame? They must've, would've reveled in seeing the despair and betrayal in their eyes. Ghost was suddenly standing in his childhood home, watching helplessly as the killer mercilessly shot Beth and Tommy, how the killer stopped when they saw Joseph and the cruel grin that must've grew on their face before….

Ghost shook his head, pinching his eyes closed as he sat up, trying to push away the thought of warm blood coating his hands as he kneeled in front of their bodies. His chest tightened and breathing became more difficult, Ghost couldn't do anything, he couldn't do anything. He spiraled, holding his head as he hyperventilated, he tried to think of Price, of the slow breaths and exhales. It didn't help when his mind kept returning to lifeless eyes staring at him, blaming him. Gripping his hair tightly, he opened his eyes despite the narrow and blurry vision. He searched for something to anchor him, something to keep his mind from falling into his spiraling thoughts. He couldn't make out much in the room, but one thing did catch his eyes. 

Something laid on the edge of the bed, it took a lot just to pull his body out of paralysis enough to slowly reach out a shaky hand to grab it. Despite his panic, it didn't take him long to realize it was a balaclava, the only difference was that there was a skull mask stitched to it. It was obviously custom made but he didn't know why or how, it was obvious that Price had been the one to put it on the end of the bed, considering no one else knew his history, but it didn't really make sense why he would give him a custom mask or even how he got it made so quickly.

His eyebrows knitted, his heavy but shallow pants filling the silence before he carefully raised the balaclava to his head and slowly slipped it on. Once the cloth rested against his face, he took a shaky breath and closed his eyes, focusing on the familiar feeling, on the comfort it brought him. His mind came to a halt. Emotions slowly winding down as his body lost some of its tension, his panic had lessened enough that he could focus on other things. Which had naturally been the mask's material, it wasn't simply cheap plastic but rather, a tougher but pliable material that wasn't uncomfortable. The cloth stitched on the inside definitely helped. A warmth slowly filled him, replacing the panic fully as he took a deep breath, feeling like it was the first easy breath he'd had in a long time. The cloth against his skin gave him a sense of comfort that made him start to tear up, he let himself slump against the wall as the tears fell from his eyes silently.

It took more than a few minutes for Ghost to pull himself back together, taking a few more deep breaths and wiping his eyes before a determined expression settled on his face.

'Wallowing won't help. It won't bring them back, nor will it honor them. Roba and Vernon be damned, if I'm meant to live, after everything. It would only be a slap to my family's faces if I ended it.'

Standing up from the bed, he strode over to the door, grabbing and turned the handle hesitantly. He stared at it for a long moment in silent preparation before he took another breath and finally turned it and pushed it open.

. . . .

Ghost hadn't directly thanked Price for the mask, instead, he'd bought him another matching hat. The poor thing he'd been wearing was all tattered and seemed like it was only hanging on by a thread. Price hadn't vocally expressed his appreciation, but Ghost knew when he saw Price wearing it and the soft smile under his mustache.

Ghost hadn't known the man long, but something about Price comforted him. Not that he would say that aloud… A part of it might've been due to the fact that Price hadn't brought up his breakdown in the mess hall, he was surprised but also thankful. He didn't want to talk, let alone think about it…. 

'Don't think. Just do.'

It had become his internal mantra every time his thoughts started to drift to his family or Roba and Vernon, it wasn't the most effective, but simply telling himself to simply shut his mind off and just move still helped block out the rest.

The weeks passed by painstakingly slow, Price had been stern about Ghost spending his time in bed. Talking his ear off about healing, only to be the one forcing him to his feet constantly, not that he listened anyway. Ghost couldn't blame the man, it wasn't his fault. There was a lot to work out due to his… Unique situation, with his testimony against Major Vernon and Roba— even if they're already dead —and legally bringing him back to life, followed by a necessary rework of his file. The last was the most difficult, Price had done a lot, but according to what the Captain told him, his authority wasn't high enough.

Fortunately, one General Shepherd decided to help. For what reason? Ghost didn't know. But Shepard was the one to confirm and complete everything, by the end, Ghost's file was successfully sealed behind countless locks. His new one only showed his previous achievements and his callsign. Not even his past picture adorned any page, though he wasn't surprised by it. The point of hiding who he used to be is to hide anything that could be recognized... mask aside.... 

He would love to say that things went quicker than he expected, but that would be a lie. It felt like he was trudging through mud and kept getting stuck every two steps, the minutes and hours felt centuries longer, and days seemed never-ending in the dazed drift of merging memories, dreams, and reality. 

. . . .

The moon lightly cast its ghostly light upon Ghost through the bushes as he waited, perched at the top of a hill with his gun at the ready. He scanned the compound below, the target of his mission. Taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it, he steadied his aim and watched the surrounding area, waiting patiently for his target to appear. Ghost was no stranger to waiting games, most of his career was waiting, on gathering information or for a mission to come. Tonight was no exception. It was only a matter of time….

With each passing second, Ghost waited patiently, his thumb had started slightly trembling against the trigger. The wait was almost unbearable for some reason, it wasn't just the tension of waiting that made it unbearable. No, he was far too used to laying prone for hours with the tension of a mission on his shoulders, he had trained hours and years for this. Thousands of previous missions spent doing nothing but laying still, yet he hadn't once struggled this much to keep still in his life, in this moment it felt like he would explode if he didn't move. It was stupid, irrational. It wouldn't kill him to lay still, but every second wasted just laying on this hill, reminded him of every second he wasted in that bloody cell.

Of every second he could've spent trying harder to escape, or everything he could've done to be free sooner, the lost seconds of wallowing after strenuous torture he knows he could have used to save them…. Every moment the target was delayed, every movement he made, just made his mind spiral faster. His palms were clammy under his gloves and it felt like he was choking every time he swallowed, he felt paranoid, glancing at every shadow as if it was going to jump out at him. He struggled to keep his hands and breathing steady, as he tried to keep focus, sweat building on his temple as he repeated his mission assignment in his mind.

'Eliminate target, then exfil. Eliminate target, then exfil. Don't think. Just do. Don't. Think.'

He took slow and steady deep breaths, keeping his focus on his scope and the mission, he wasn't going to fuck this up. Especially not after Price had nagged at him so much before he left, saying, 'You aren't ready, you still need to heal!' He couldn't, would rather put himself back in that grave than return to base and look Price in the eyes and admit he was right. He couldn't. He could handle this. It was a simple mission, nearly child's play, it was a rinse and repeat of missions he had done plenty of times before. Failing or even giving up was completely out of the question.

As the clock ticked down, Ghost's patience and sanity continued to be tested. The tension in the air was almost palpable as Ghost waited, his thumb still trembling against the trigger. 'Maybe I should find out where the target is', the thought crossed his mind, to end this suspense once and for all, but he refrained. Ghost didn't want to move, not even an inch. He wanted this kill to be effortless, to have the target practically drop into his lap, he had come too far to ruin it now. Time dragged on and on, but he waited….

Ghost's patience was rewarded. Slowly but with haste, the target's car came into view, rolling down the dirt road toward the compound. His heart began to race, his thumb no longer trembling against the trigger, but pressing against it slightly and firmly. He kept himself still, not wanting to give away his perfect position prematurely, as he waited for the perfect moment. It eventually came when the vehicle stopped and the engine turned off, his target stepping out of his car. Ghost's breath caught, Adam's apple bobbing under his balaclava as he was filled with an almost sickening excitement, this is it.

Carefully aiming his sniper, his eyes locked onto the target. He didn't hesitate once the shot was lined up, with one swift movement, he pulled the trigger, the sharp report of the gun reverberating through the night air with a snap. The target collapsed to the ground with a thud, his brain matter splattered on the car behind him. After a quick once over confirming the target's death and satisfied with his work, he lowered his sniper and finally took an easy deep breath. He army crawled away from the hill ledge before standing up and slinging the gun strap over his shoulder, slipping away into the darkness and calling for exfil.

. . . .

After the first successful mission, the months seemed to pass by in the blink of an eye. It was one mission after the other, hallucinations and night terrors mixed with sleepless nights. Nothing else mattered, only the trigger under his finger or the knife in his hand and the enemies in front of him. Like it should be. Like it was always meant to be. Everything else was a distraction, unnecessary, and only got in the way.

Like worry. Ghost pretended not to notice, every time he felt or caught the worried glances Price would constantly direct his way, the older man always worried. But Ghost fears the Captain's worry is less about the missions, and more about him, he doesn't need it, the care and worry… It wasn't necessary, he doesn't deserve it, but he knew bringing it up with Price would only make him worry more. So he pretended, diverted his eyes at every sad glance and furrowed brow. Avoided every comforting pat and praise for a job well done.

Ghost only realized weeks later, that no matter what he did, Price was persistent.

. . . .

His quiet footsteps echoed through the hallway as he ignored the familiar stares he received from everyone he passed. They just had a recent influx of rookies and of course, they were all curious about Ghost. It wasn't unusual, far from it, but he'll never get used to how fearless and reckless some rookies could be....

"Hey Lt!"

Ghost stopped walking as he heard the familiar voice, 'Speaking of fearless and reckless...' Slowly, Ghost turned his head to glance over his shoulder. His eyes landed on the rookie; the kid hadn't joined more than a week ago and already stirred up plenty of trouble. Price had reprimanded him so many times, Ghost wouldn't be surprised if the guy had a world record for it, it certainly set a precedent for the other rookies. Good and bad, Ghost had talked with Price about the kid a few times over his behavior and what to do about it. He was a good soldier, one of the best out of the bunch; a reason for which Price hadn't kicked him out yet.

He could understand Cap's reasoning, the benefit of the doubt that his reckless attitude could be turned around with some real experience. Ghost even agreed, to an extent, he's seen plenty of rookies who start out reckless and arrogant, before they experience being in a truly desperate situation. Where the odds are stacked against them and they're truly helpless to the fate awaiting them. It's why Ghost hadn't said much in response about the kid when Price had asked. Ghost didn't have a problem dealing with the hot-headed rookies and similar, honestly, he probably enjoyed it more than he should….

Ghost watched the kid try to tamper his dangerous smirk with a nicer smile as he approached. Ghost had seen that look plenty of times in the past few months since he returned to action, it spoke of danger and challenge. He didn't know what the rookie had planned, but whatever it was, Ghost wouldn't let him off easy for messing with him.... Ghost didn't respond, choosing to simply watch the kid as he closed the distance. The air in the hallway felt suffocating as the bystanders gathered on each side with bated breaths, Ghost spotted a group standing at the back with a phone raised. 'Recording.' He smirked, an excitement bubbling up in him as he turned to face the kid.

"Fun mission, right?"

Ghost almost spat out a laugh, not only was the kid bad at hiding his intentions, he mentions their previous mission? The one he fucked up? Ghost would feel amused if he wasn't growing sick of the kid beating around the bush. The rookie raised a questioning eyebrow at the lack of response as he looked back at his apparent friends and shrugged. The next movement was quick as he turned and lunged at Ghost, hand reaching out for his mask, but Ghost was quicker, stepping back to let him lose some balance as he grabbed the wrist of his outstretched hand. Pulling, he avoided the soldier's stumbling path to slam a fist into his back, forcing him to the floor. Ghost pressed his boot into the small of his back and twisted his arm, the kid nearly sounded like a banshee as his over-exaggerated scream echoed through the hall. 

"Don't be dramatic... I hardly played with you..." 

Ghost spoke in an unamused tone, the formed crowd slowly broke out into stifled chuckles when the kid suddenly rolled, tugging his arm harshly and pulling Ghost forward, catching him off guard as he kicked at him. The boot collided directly with Ghost's abdomen, pushing him back as the kid stood up and made a grab at his mask once more. This time though, two pairs of arms grabbed Ghost's and suddenly he wasn't at base anymore.... He was concussed and being dragged through endless hallways towards the room of his never ending nightmares. He fought, violently, it couldn't have been more than a minute before Price was pulling him off of the bloodied rookies. 

"Ghost!! Calm down!"

Ghost blinked the memory away frantically as his swimming vision cleared enough to look back at Price, releasing a stuttered, panting breath in the process, he glanced back at the rookies who provided a brutal picture as they laid beaten on the floor. The kid seemed to have gotten the worst of it, unsurprisingly.... Ghost roughly shrugged his arms from Price's grip, shuddering before stomping his way passed the parting crowd of shocked soldiers.

'Christ... He hates rookies....'

. . . .

Out of everything, that event certainly hadn't helped prevent Price's worry, if anything, it only seemed to make it worse. Ghost wasn't surprised, the group had been in medical for four weeks due to the injuries. He was just thankful Price had come to the decision of kicking that hot-headed kid out, in the end, neither of them got an answer as to why the group did what they did. Ghost could assume curiosity, but it seemed too much for simple curiosity, not to mention that they had recorded it. It just ended up as one of the many mysteries surrounding Ghost....

Of course, following the incident. The exact extent of Price's worry became even more apparent when the man came to him with an offer to join a new task force. Originally, Ghost thought it was just some lame lax subdivision task force Price was trying to put him in to avoid similar situations and curve his worry. 

He was wrong….

. . . .

His first introduction to TF-141, was to the base. It was a two-day trip from the one they were staying in prior. The thing that surprised him the most about it when he first arrived, was how big the base was, there was plenty of room for activity, even the wood planks, bricks, and bags of cement gathered to one side could also probably suit an activity of some sort. In his second introduction, he met Kyle "Gaz" Garrick. The kid was nearly shivering like a leaf when they first met, clearly trying to suppress whatever fear or excitement but failing miserably. 

"Nice to meet you Lt!" Gaz smiled, thankfully keeping his hands to himself. Price must've mentioned something about that to him, he gave a silent thanks to the old man.

Ghost glanced at the Captain before grunting in response to the kid, who he learned from Price on the flight over, had been staying at the base weeks before the task force was even properly formed. Price must've wanted him on the team first, then. Gaz certainly seems like the right-hand man type….

They spent a quarter of the day simply showing Ghost around the base, a track to run, an indoor firing range, gym, the mess hall, and plenty of other rooms. It took about two hours just to explore the entire place, mostly just walking, before they ended the tour at his assigned room. It was…big, to say the least. A large bed, dresser, desk, and a personal bathroom. He honestly could've sobbed if he tried hard enough, a personal bathroom in the military?? It's like finding a bloody unicorn or hitting the lottery jackpot. 

"We'll let you get settled in, lunch will be ready in an hour, so take your time." Price smiled as the two took their leave.

Ghost stood in the middle of the room, finding himself at a loss as he took it all in. The large bed met the wall, placed directly center, with a flat-topped chest sitting at the end, empty. The dark dresser sat in the left corner by the bed, the desk not too far, sitting right at the window. It was… cozy, all things considered. He didn't let himself dwell on it too long, setting about to put away his items before thinking about anything else. It took less time than he had hoped, which wasn't a surprise when you consider that he only has a sparse collection of clothes and his special set of knives. He should probably go shopping….

Shaking his head, he focused back on his task, grabbing the folded pile of clothes he had set aside and walking into the bathroom, the space was spotless. Which made it evident that it was probably built sometime within the past weeks, or well taken care of. The former seemed more likely though, since the entire base seemed newly built. The bricks, cement bags, and wood planks lying around outside were a bit of a giveaway.

Despite Price's encouragement to take his time, his shower was quick, but he enjoyed it nonetheless. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he ran a tanish towel through his wet hair when a series of knocks interrupted the silence. Ghost paused as he waited for the person to announce themselves.

"Ghost, it's Gaz. The last 141 member just arrived, Price wants us all to meet in the mess." 

"Alright…" The words rumble out of him, his voice gravelly due to disuse, reminding him that he hadn't said anything aside from a few words with Price a few hours before they arrived here. That was probably something he should be concerned about, but he's spent longer on solo missions with hardly speaking.

Footsteps trailed distantly down the hallway as Ghost let a sigh escape him, he stood up, grabbing his mask as he did so. He tossed the towel into the hamper sitting conveniently by the bathroom, pulling the mask over his head afterward, the still-damp strands of hair stuck to his forehead, adding to his mild annoyance as he pulled open the door and stepped out and swung it closed behind him. He settled into a quick stride, seeing no point in delaying the inevitable of an introduction.

It took four steps less than he'd expected to arrive at the mess hall, pausing outside the doors for a moment, he took the time to listen in to the quiet inaudible chatter from inside before pushing the door open. He heard the chatter pitter off once he entered, attention turning towards him. It felt a bit uncomfortable being under scrutiny, although it wasn't uncommon, from the moment he started going on missions again he'd felt it. From the rookies to superiors, everyone wanted to know something about "The Ghost."

He made his way over, eyes focusing on the unfamiliar face, the Mohawk caught his attention first. It certainly wasn't an uncommon hairstyle, especially in the military. But the cut was a bit short to completely fit its wearer. Coming up to the table, he realized the newcomer was occupying the seat beside Price, a spot he would've typically chosen. Ghost glanced at Gaz and the expanse of seating beside him, deciding it was better than standing awkwardly or sitting beside the stranger. Taking a seat a few inches away from Gaz, he hoped minutely that the other didn't feel offended, he only slightly tolerated Price's touch and proximity. It was asking a lot for him to feel comfortable in someone else's proximity on top of that.

Price smiled as he started the introduction, "These two have already met, so final introductions go to you, Ghost. This is Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish, since there are only four operatives and a handful of trainees, you two will be working closely together."

'Sergeant, so not a rookie. There's hope after all.'

Soap gave a lopsided smile, starting to stretch out a hand only to draw it back sheepishly. "Let's have some fun, yeah Lt?" The Scottish accent threw Ghost for a loop momentarily, he took the time to closely inspect the other as his mind mulled over a response.

"…Sure." He opted to say, although he didn't know if it was a decent response. He wasn't the best conversationalist unless you count telling shitty dad jokes and yelling orders as conversation skills. It seemed like a good response anyway. Regardless, he'd decided it's better to start being "friendly" now rather than struggle later. Especially when it may be needed, the quicker he at least becomes somewhat comfortable with his future teammates, the easier missions will go.

Price and Gaz shared surprised expressions, for what reason? Ghost didn't know, was he supposed to be unwelcoming? Maybe, he hadn't exactly been polite to Gaz. Though anything involving socializing tended to elude him, possibly because he spent so long simply listening to Vernon and Roba's threats and brainwashing attempts…. Ghost still wasn't entirely sure they hadn't succeeded and his whole life was some lie they and his mind had cooked up, considering sometimes things were difficult to differentiate from reality or his imagination. But who knows, at least he was alive. 

That's fucked, isn't it? Though who expects to make it out a hundred percent intact after what he's been through? His teammates certainly didn't. They came out fifty percent screwed backwards with a 'great value' sticker and discount tag on their foreheads, singing praise for Roba… if anything, Ghost got out lucky. Still, was it really lucky when he considered the most he had escaped with was his life? Everything else had been torn and scattered in that concrete room and the rest left to rot in that coffin, it didn't feel like living when the only thing he could reliably cling to was the image of Ghost….

Shaking his head, he realized he had been spacing out. Price was mostly unconcerned, keeping Ghost in his peripheral while having a conversation with Gaz and Soap. The latter of which was mostly preoccupied with staring at Ghost, eyebrows pulled tautly. Soap seemed like he was trying to decipher hieroglyphs or something, unsuccessfully. If the quiet frustrated exhale was any clue. Ghost for his part, stared back blankly, listening in to Price and Gaz's conversation for background noise.

Taking a closer look, Ghost noticed the wrinkles in the corner of Soap's eyes. A clear testament to how much the other man smiles, Ghost wonders if his eyes would be in a similar shape if his life had gone differently… It's a pointless thought, he knows it is…. The longer he stared at Soap, the more his buried longing for what was already gone reared its ugly head. Pulling his eyes away, he looked at Price, hoping he conveyed enough of his unspoken question.

It seemed to work, as Price nodded and abruptly ended his conversation to speak. "There are no missions planned yet, so use your free days to get settled in."

Ghost nodded, appreciative as he stood up and took his leave. There wasn't anything to do in his room but read, so obviously he spent the rest of the day reading. An easy way to pass the time and keep his mind distracted, he always wondered, what it felt like to write a story. To delve so deep into the pages of your own words and plot that you could imagine yourself in it, could hide in the recesses of your imagination for hours to escape reality.

He wished he knew that kind of escape, a kind where his mind didn't turn on him at every corner, where it'd lead him to a blind fantasy rather than the ruins of his reality…. He could probably make a decent horror novel at least…. The night didn't continue much differently, he ate dinner alone and let the pages of printed words carry his thoughts away. Ghost didn't know if he should've expected something different….

. . . .

Ghost had awoken early the next morning, doing his morning routine and grabbing breakfast before anyone else, eventually making his way outside. He found a secluded and shaded corner, lighting up a cigarette and slightly rolling up his balaclava just enough to smoke, merely enjoying the peace of the early morning and absence of people. He stared blankly at the slightly cloudy sky, not so much seeing.

'Soap... Price mentioned him a few times, what had he said? Hothead and loudmouth with a fancy for explosives? Skilled soldier though, unsurprising since Price was the one to train him. Loyalty? Not so sure, he acts all carefree, maybe a bit naïve. Dangerous.'

Ghost sighed, exhaling the smoke as he shook his head, eyes drifting to the nearby track, his eyes landing on Gaz who was seemingly talking to someone following behind him. It wasn't hard to guess who...

Soap jogged a few paces behind Gaz, chatting animatedly as they run. Ghost watched him glance around, taking in the open training yard for a moment before blue eyes seemed to find his. Soap grins at him and that's all Ghost needs to know he can't just slip away, pulling his balaclava back down, he watches the two soldiers talk before Soap points towards his hiding spot, Gaz glances over at him and seemingly chuckles and says something. Ghost isn't hopeful when he sees Soap's grin widen mischievously while veering off the track towards him, skidding to a halt a few feet away, bouncing excitedly on his feet.

"'Ello there! Fancy seein' ya out here. Not one for runnin' I take it?"

Soap's voice is cheery as he gestures at Ghost's cigarette, eyes bright with mirth behind his joking accusation. Ghost blinked at the chipper Scotsman, he wondered if the guy was never not upbeat. Ghost slightly raised an eyebrow at Soap's words, glancing down at the lit cigarette between his gloved fingers, his eyes lifted back to the other's face as he gave a quiet grunt in response.

"Run plenty…" 

He wasn't sure what much else he could say, not that he really want to interact with anyone currently, it wasn't likely he could merely slip away without Soap chasing after him like an eager puppy. Soap laughs, the sound bright and amused, clearly pleased about something.

"Oh aye? And here I thought ya were just bein' anti-social hidin' away over here."

He says it teasingly, a cheeky grin on his face as Gaz jogs up beside them, shaking his head in exasperation at Soap's antics.

"Don't mind him, he's got all the energy of a hyper puppy," Gaz chuckles.

Soap just shrugs, completely unbothered. Ghost can see the moment an idea pops into the Scotsman's head and the way he perks up.

"Say, why don't ya join us for the rest o' our run? We've only got a couple laps left."

He bounces on his toes again eagerly. Gaz raises an eyebrow at him but doesn't object to Soap's invitation. It's clear to Ghost that Soap is ready to keep cajoling him if needed, for whatever reason, the man seemed determined to get him to interact with him. Ghost slightly cocked his head to the side. He hadn't gone on his daily run yet...

'Benefit? The opportunity to learn more about my new teammates and be at least amiable co-workers. Cons? Interaction and the possibility of physical contact.'

Silently sighing, Ghost put out his cigarette on the bricks of the wall before tossing it into a nearby trash can and shrugging, walking past the two as he walked over to the track, not bothering to look over his shoulder as he started an unhurried jog. Soap and Gaz quickly fall into step on either side of him and unsurprisingly, Soap chatters away aimlessly as they run, occasionally trying to draw Ghost into responding more than the grunts and one word answers he's mostly giving. By the last lap, Soap is clearly starting to run out of steam, panting lightly as his shorter legs work to keep up with Gaz and Ghost's longer strides. Gaz is taking slightly heavier breaths, and Ghost is barely out of breath, keeping steady control of his breathing.

"Christ...how are...ya not knackered...yet?" Soap huffs out between breaths.

Gaz chuckles, glancing over. "Maybe because...some of us...actually pace ourselves...instead of running our gobs...the whole time."

Soap shoots him a mock offended look before turning his gaze expectantly to Ghost, as if he had much better to say in the mans favor. Ghost merely grunted in agreement with Gaz's words.

"…The breath control needed while talking and running takes more breath and energy, rather than simply running…" He responded bluntly.

Soap huffs out a laugh at Ghost's blunt response. "Aye, yer probably right 'bout that," he agrees, flashing Ghost a grin.

By now they've finished their laps, slowing to a stop. Soap puts his hands on his knees, still catching his breath as he looks up at Ghost who's doing some minor stretches.

"I think I'll leave the marathon runnin' to you though. My legs are ready for a break!"

He straightens up with a groan, rolling his shoulders. Gaz claps him on the back in a companionable way.

"C'mon, now that our run is over, let's grab some breakfast. Race ya there, Soap!"

With that he takes off towards the mess hall. Soap barks out a laugh.

"Oh yer on!"

He goes to sprint after Gaz but pauses, looking back at Ghost and suddenly Ghost feels a hand grab his left wrist as Soap grins up at him.

"Let's go slowpoke, don't wanna get left behind!"

The Scotsman doesn't even give Ghost a chance to react before taking off, practically dragging him along in his eager rush to catch up with Gaz. Clearly too focused on his impromptu race to consider that grabbing Ghost, regardless of pre-warning, wasn't the wisest idea.

Ghost flinched the moment Soap's hand closed around his wrist, tense and coiled like a spring, the contact flipped a switch in him, the brush of skin on his between his glove and hoodie sleeve made his skin crawl, sparking his skin unpleasantly, goosebumps covered his arms as the sour tang of bile coated his tongue. His focus narrowed singly on the touch and he couldn't stop his fist quick enough, not having enough time to comprehend the situation fully as he solidly decks Soap in the back of the head, barely able to hold back from putting his full strength into the instinctual reaction. Soap lets out a surprised yelp as Ghost's fist connects with the back of his head, hard enough to make him stumble. Ghost quickly steps back when his wrist is released, fighting off the shivers as he held his wrist protectively, trying not to panic even though he had completely stopped breathing.

'You're fine. It's fine. Shite…' Ghost repeated in his head like a mantra as if it would help, it didn't.

Soap whirls around after he'd gathered himself, one hand going to the back of his head as he stares at Ghost with wide, shocked eyes.

"Bloody hell! What was that for?"

He rubs at the sore spot, wincing as he blinks in confusion, taking in Ghost holding his wrist defensively, mind clearly working for a moment until anger visibly faded to guilt and he holds up his hands in a placating gesture.

"Shite, sorry 'bout that mate. Shouldnae have grabbed ya without askin'. You alrigh'?"

He looks Ghost over with concern as Gaz jogs back over, looking between them warily.

"Everything okay over here?"

Soap shrugs, giving him a sheepish look. "Aye, just me being an oblivious idiot as usual. I'm fine."

He turns his attention back to Ghost, genuinely apologetic. "Really am sorry though, won't happen again. Let's just get some brekkie, yeah?" He keeps his voice calm and friendly.

Ghost is a mess of conflicting emotions on the inside, needing to do a lot, both to calm himself down and escape this situation, but he didn't know what to start with, he couldn't quite get his throat or lungs to open up, his ringing ears only just picking up Soap's words. He merely shook his head, unsure how to express that he'd already eaten and that he cannot physically and mentally handle being around anyone at the moment. Gathering himself the best he can, he heads back to the main building, trying to appear casual about the situation as he walks despite how much it actually affected him. Ghost waited until he was inside before he bolted it to his quarters, locking the door and sinking to the floor as he worked through the volatile mix of emotions and the crawling of his skin to try and properly gather himself as best as possible.

The day passed without any more incidents, Ghost had spent the rest of it in his room, the next day, he spent some of his time simply watching everyone, mostly Soap. Trying to build mental profiles for his now and future teammates, call it caution or paranoia, he couldn't take any chances. Not anymore…. Though the majority of his day was spent deciding what he wanted to do, reading, exercising, and target practice. The list went on, with no missions, the stagnant days in between were nearly lawless. An unpredictable battlefield of boredom, night terrors, and wandering thoughts.

The latter is where he found himself today, staring at the open book in his hand but not perceiving the words. After multiple attempts at focusing failed, he groaned, closing the book and setting it down before glancing at his M4A1 sitting propped up against his dresser. With a sigh, he stood up and grabbed it, leaving his room and taking a detour to the firing range. It was surprisingly empty, to his relief. He took up the furthest range, holding the button down until the target couldn't go farther before lifting his firearm, he peeked through the sight and lined it up. Accounting for range, he inhaled a slow quiet breath before firing.

Bullseye.

He fired again, another, another, another, another. His mind drifted to the battlefield, to the mission that started and ended it all, the shouts and complete surprise as he watched his friends fall before he himself received a blow to the back of his head. He pulled on the trigger even after he received multiple empty clicks in response. Blinking away the memories, he tried to focus, breathe, aim, fire. Simple. He stared at the distant target, with a sigh he set his gun down and pressed the button to bring the target back in to see the damage. He wasn't surprised when it came back with every shot within the middle. He was, however, surprised by the sudden gunshot beside him. His head swerved, nearly giving himself whiplash as his eyes landed on Soap, who had occupied the range beside him at some point. Once the surprise ebbed away, he noticed the gun. An FTac Recon, a good gun.

Soap cleared his throat awkwardly, he speaks up just loud enough to be heard over the shots.

"Some fine shootin' you've got there. Reckon ye could hit a bug's arse at 500 yards with skills like that." He keeps his tone light, it's evident that he's trying to break the ice a bit after their previous interaction.

Ghost gave a quiet grunt in acknowledgment of Soap's words, though he seriously doubted he'd be able to hit a bug's arse from 500 yards... His eyes darted to Soap's target, it wasn't as far back as Ghost's had been, but it was close. Most of his shots were hitting the middle, only three ending up just outside. 'Decent shot', Ghost's eyes narrowed on Soap's form. He wasn't stiff, but his shoulder was raised a bit. The action seemed unconscious, Soap ran out of ammo a few shots later, setting the gun down to pull his target back in.

Ghost gnawed at the inside of his lip, brows furrowing. 'He'd be fine without any advice…but he'd be a liability in a serious situation that requires one-hundred percent accuracy….' Slightly shifting his weight onto his right foot, he watched Soap stare at the target with mystified question. 'He could figure it out himself…right…?'

Quietly groaning, Ghost shifted on his feet once more, evening out his weight before decidedly making his way over to the other, leaving a decent amount of space between them. Soap turned his head as Ghost neared, surprise painting his face, accompanied by a familiar smile that Ghost was beginning to think was just Soap's natural expression. Ghost stared down at the other, trying to work his mouth open despite nothing holding it shut. His jaw worked uselessly under the flesh, unable to fully open, it was stuck in a tense rubber-banding as his mouth dried. It felt like his jaw had been wired shut but the wires were flexible, Ghost hated it, speaking never used to be a problem for him. Hell, his mouth could've flapped for hours in the past if necessary.

So why was it so hard to simply open his damn mouth? Dread and anxiety slowly started to fill him as the seconds passed in awkward silence, it stretched probably far beyond the socially acceptable limit. Ghost was beginning to debate just giving up when his eyes landed on Soap's patient smile, Ghost felt…some comfort, and some discomfort from it. But it turned out to be enough to loosen the invisible wires from his jaw and the invisible tape from his lips.

"Your shoulder…" He started. "When you shoot, you raise your shoulder a bit…"

Soap looks at Ghost with surprise and curiosity, blinking after a moment of silence, he clearly hadn't expected to receive advice on his shooting form. He glances at his target thoughtfully, before looking back at Ghost with a grateful smile.

"Do I? Never noticed that before... but aye, you're right. Seems a bad habit o' mine, tends to throw my aim off when I'm not focused." He chuckles self-consciously, scratching the back of his neck. "Good catch, I'll have tae work on keeping both shoulders even. Don't wanna be the weak link out in the field if things go tits up."

He pauses, then adds sincerely, "Thanks for the tip. You've got some serious skill with firearms, clearly. Reckon you could show me some pointers sometime? Help me fix my crap form?"

He gives Ghost a hopeful, friendly look. Ghost merely grunted as he hands Soap a new target to replace the shot one before making a gesture for Soap to pick up his rifle and pick up position. Soap's face lights up at his silent acceptance, quickly moving to grab his rifle and take position. He glances over his shoulder, looking to Ghost for guidance.

"Alright, I'm all ears. How's my form lookin' from over there?"

Ghost watches him as he tries to relax his shoulders and settle into a proper shooting stance, keeping his movements fluid as he lines up his next shot. Ghost watched the fight between Soap and his shoulder. Although it was more of a fight between the butt of the gun since it was angled a bit strangely and kept jabbing the side of his armpit. Ghost grimaced, his fingers twitching as he watched Soap. He physically hurt from the sight. He didn't know how Price had let the man get past training without saying anything about it, maybe it's truly just about concentration? Whatever the reason, he's determined to fix it.

"Fix the butt of the rifle closer to the crook of your neck, you're putting all the pressure directly on your armpit and it's not meant to take the recoil, doesn't take it well either."

Soap adjusts his hold on the rifle, grimacing as he seemingly realizes Ghost is right about the poor positioning. He settles the butt snugly into the pocket of his shoulder, Ghost can seen the sparkle in his eyes as he marvels at how much more balanced it probably feels already.

"Aye, that's better. No more jabbin' my poor armpit," he chuckles. "Shoulders feel more even too I think."

He glances at Ghost again for confirmation, fingers resting lightly near the trigger guard as he waits.

"What else am I bollixing up here?"

One thing Ghost can say about Soap for certain, the man is commendable, not an ego in sight when it comes to improving his skills, just avid attention and determination to improving and learning as much as possible. It's no doubt a main reason for why Price had bothered to teach him, a diligent and dedicated student is by far the best, skills aside, they're the easiest to teach and tend to put in the most effort. Ghost grunted, taking in Soap's form, he instructed what needed to be changed, having the other take a few experimental shots. Giving verbal correction each time Soap made a wrong movement or positioned himself wrong, by the end, Soap's shots were more closely clustered in the center of the target and Ghost was satisfied with knowing his teammate was more capable.

"Take it you're more close quarters." It was a statement more than a question.

Soap grins as he examines the much tighter groupings on his target, turning to Ghost with a big smile, he nods.

"Aye, you've got me pegged. I prefer gettin' up close and personal in a scrap. Nothin' quite like the thrill o' hand-to-hand."

He mimes a few fake jabs and swipes with his fists, clearly at ease with the idea of fisticuffs.

"Reckon that's why my aim goes all to shite at a distance," he chuckles. "Too impatient, wantin' to see the damage upfront. But havin' long range skills is important too. So thanks again for the help, I really appreciate you takin' the time."

He gives Ghost a considering look. "Sometime we'll have to spar though, hand-to-hand I mean. Pretty sure I can take ya, big guy," he says teasingly, flexing one arm in exaggerated macho fashion.

"Careful. As much as I'm not 'big on touching', you aren't the only one good at CQC." Ghost slightly mused.

Soap laughs loudly at Ghost's response, delighted. "Oho, them's fightin' words! Dinnae think I'll go easy on ya just 'cause yer a hardass with a cool mask."

He grins and playfully shadow boxes the air. "Name the time and place, mate, and I'll put ya on yer arse. We'll see how good that CQC of yours is."

His eyes gleam with mischief and competitiveness for a moment before it turned into a more genuine and thankful expression.

"Naw, fight's can wait for the moment, I owe ye a drink though! Yer an absolute saint! A've been tryin' tae solve why ah have nae been able tae make every shot." Soap bounces excitedly on his toes, clearing the distance between them before Ghost or even he seemed to realize.

Arms were wrapping around Ghost quicker than he could avoid, he couldn't stop himself from swinging even if he tried, his fist connecting with Soap's abdomen as the other groaned and pulled away, hunched and holding his abdomen. Ghost's body went rigid shivers running through his body as his skin littered with goosebumps, it took a moment for Soap to gather himself. "S-Shite, I didnae… mean tae… Christ... ye hit harder... than last time…" He wheezed, "A-Are ye alrigh'?"

Ghost was…well…frozen, it was an…. Unfamiliar reaction to touch, typically his first reaction is self-defense, which he obviously did. But freezing afterwards? That's…that's new…. His mouth had dried and his muscles wouldn't move, his joints entirely locked up. Soap's brows were increasingly furrowing, slight wrinkles forming on his forehead as he held his hands out in front of him with uncertainty. Seemingly having an internal argument about whether or not he should touch Ghost again or leave him alone.

Ghost wasn't sure what he would prefer, he didn't know how much better or worse it could get either way. Perhaps his body wouldn't move until his muscles strained and he eventually collapsed, did he have a big part in why his body wouldn't move? 'Maybe it's a mental thing, probably a mental thing. Shit, how do I fix this? C'mon, I'm not in danger, if I was, this would be a bloody shite solution to solving any danger.'

"Ghost? Are ye alrigh'?" Soap's voice dragged him back as he repeated the question, concerned, he had stepped slightly closer, his hands kind of just waving the air around a few inches from Ghost's arms. "Are—Are ye breathin' at least?" 

Shite… 

Nope, no he was not. Soap not only took away his movement but also his breath. He struggled to will himself into taking a slow deep breath, trying to pace his breathing as his body slowly unfroze. "Yeah… No, y-yeah. I'm alright." He winced, fingers twitching as he grabbed his gun and quickly retreated. Ghost barely managed to suppress the intense shivering that tried to overtake his body, rushing into his room before his body could fully decompress. 

He just managed to turn the lock in time before he collapsed in front of the door, teeth chattering loudly through the shivers despite the temperature being at least twenty degrees above hot. His skin crawled and all he could feel was Vernon and Roba's hands, marring his skin and digging into his flesh. 

. . . .

Squelch 

"Oh! Look here, Simon! Say hello to your livers!" 

Ghost watched hazily through blurry and spotted vision as Vernon held two red lumps up, an unfamiliar liquid and blood dripped unpleasantly from them. He probably would've thrown up if he felt conscious enough, he didn't know whether that was fortunate or not. It's unbelievable that such a hell could exist, it was devastating, he'd nearly managed to pass out multiple times only for Vernon to wake him back up with a multitude of methods. Adrenaline shots seemed to be his favorite since they made Ghost wildly energetic and he apparently enjoyed seeing his heart pound. 

Leave it to Vernon to find some sick excitement from watching someone's heart race in their open chest cavity. Roba, on the other hand, liked to experiment. He had a small hobby of reading medical books, so he'd cut and stitch Simon countless times for "study". There's no amount of military training the government can legally put you through without a high risk of death, that would ever prepare you for the horrors of actual torture. 

Even then, Ghost doesn't think he could classify what Roba and Vernon did to him and his teammates as simply "torture" it felt too soft to explain what it actually was. No, it was hell, the kind that your parents, grandparents, or even regular churchgoers tell you you'll end up. Just without the severe heat and less red-horned, tailed devils. 

Squelch 

He might prefer the devils… His vision started to fade once more as Vernon continued his digging as if he was looking for a buried treasure of some sort. Ghost didn't even get a moment of darkness before the shot, his eyes flared open despite the extreme exhaustion and pain fighting to pull him under. The adrenaline made his ears ring and ebbed away at the dull aching pain as he tugged at the restraints, head shaking wildly. 

"Hey hey hey!" Vernon shouted, hands pressing on his lungs. Ghost gasped uselessly into the oxygen mask, the adrenaline making its steep climb down as his body fell limp. His mouth gaped and his throat burned, but he desperately inhaled anyway once the hands let off. Falling into a painful and bloodied coughing fit, it send Vernon into a panic and the ringing shouts were the last thing to send him off into blissful reprieve…

. . . .

… Sunken Lungs…