Chapter Text
I lean a little further out of the chopper, one hand still gripping the overhead handle on the ceiling firmly. There's not many experiences that give me a rush anymore, but flying over a hundred miles an hour through almost pitch black darkness... it's gotta be a close feeling.
After everything I've done, it's hard to feel adrenaline the same way I used to. The feeling of fight or flight is diluted now, since I feel it so often. My body's constant biological response to life-or-death moments has worn down the psychological response. Adrenaline is like a drug that I've been abusing for too long—sometimes I wonder if I need a tolerance break.
But then I get calls like this, to join an elite task force in the middle of Mexico, and that need comes rushing in, for just...
One. More. Hit.
Then I tell myself there are worse drugs to be addicted to. And that's how I ended up in the middle of Mexico.
The chopper slows in speed, the bitter cold air that was whipping around me stings my face less. That's another interesting thing. I knew from some class in high school that deserts got cold at night, but I'd still expected there to be a little bit of residual heat through the night. Oh how wrong I was.
I see the base up ahead. I continue to look out at the surrounding wasteland, illuminated by the moon and not much else. As we get closer, the base is lit up even this late, patrols still up and active as if it were the middle of the day. By the time the helicopter begins to descend, I lean back inside and sigh heavily, reaching for my equipment that I'd set aside.
"We're gonna touch down and take right back off once you're on solid ground, Gray," the pilot says to me through the headset.
I shake my head with a laugh, doing up my chest harness. "I'll jump if you want me to, so you don't even have to touch down."
"Negative, soldier. Don't feel like flying you back because you broke your legs."
"Aw, you'll miss me," I tease, finishing zipping up my large duffle bag.
"Negative again, soldier."
Still smiling, I look back outside and see a group of men approaching on the ground. It's mostly dark, except for the search lights overhead and the pale lights from the buildings nearby. Still, I'd recognize that infamous skull mask from a mile away.
There it is—adrenaline. Not a huge bout of it, just enough to get my heart going a little faster and my chest to feel like it's expanding a little further on my inhales. I'm nervous and excited to meet the men that I've been trusted to join.
The chopper touches down as delicately as I could possibly ask for, and I strap my duffel bag onto my back and hop off. I duck slightly because I don't want anyone to be upset by my lack of safety etiquette. Only a few yards away, three men stand. I recognize each of them as I approach. Captain John Price stands front and center, Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish on his left, and Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley on his right.
I stop in front of them and salute, since all three of them outrank me.
"At ease, soldier," Price says. "Welcome to the 141."
My heart slams a little harder against my ribs, my blood rushing through my veins with pride. I can't help the smile that spreads across my face as I drop my hand to stand less formally.
"Thank you, sir. I'm grateful for the opportunity to work alongside you all," I say, my eyes flickering to each of their faces. Well, I can't see Ghost's face under his mask. I try not to be unnerved by the way his eyes still tell a thousand words that his lack of facial expression fails to communicate.
"We're meeting tomorrow at oh-five-hundred to go over new intel, and then we'll be planning our next mission. I trust you're ready to begin?" Price asks.
I nod almost too eagerly. "Of course, sir."
"Settle down, soldier," Ghost mutters, his accent gracing my ears in a way that almost makes a shudder tear down my spine.
I turn my head to look at him, my brow slightly furrowed. "Sorry, sir."
"Don't mind him," Soap says to me with a half smile. "He's a grumpy old Brit, aren't ya, Ghost?"
I stand still, a little afraid of how to react. I hadn't expected this kind of banter right out the gate.
Ghost turns to shoot a glare in Soap's direction, but before he can say anything, Price gives a slightly exasperated sigh.
"Come on, Gray, I'll show you to your quarters. Remind me of your callsign?"
"Phoenix," I answer.
"Any particular meaning for that one?" he asks, turning to lead the way.
I stay a few steps behind him, careful to avoid running into Ghost or Soap who also turn to follow.
"Long story," I say, smiling a little. "Might need a little liquor in me to tell you."
"Fair enough. I never got creative enough to come up with something other than my name like these two dickheads did," Price says.
I'm not new to cursing in this line of work—far from it. It still catches me off guard, considering how formal this first encounter had been up until now.
"Now, hold on, 'Soap' is badass," the sergeant on my left says.
"Oh, yeah," Ghost scoffs. "I'm sure your enemies shake in their boots when they hear the name of the mighty 'Soap.' What are you gonna do, wash their mouths out?"
"I'll wash your mouth out—" Soap starts to snap.
"Christ," Price interrupts. "Are you two not grown men?"
That shuts them up and I suppress a laugh.
We approach a barracks building. "There's a fourth room here for you. If you're not comfortable, we can find other arrangements—" Price starts.
"No, not at all," I say, then realize my mistake of interrupting and try to correct with, "Um, I just mean I'm perfectly okay with this, sir. I don't need special arrangements."
Price nods at me, and I'm relieved that he isn't going to hold it over my head that I broke formal protocol by interrupting.
Once inside, Ghost brushes past me in a way that nearly topples me, despite only making slight contact. The man is positively massive—he's well over than a foot taller than me, and truthfully one of the most muscular men I've ever seen, which is saying something since I've been surrounded by military men for over 2 years now.
Soap's hand on my shoulder steadies me when I take a stumbling side step. I watch in slight shock as Ghost turns and vanishes into a side room, shutting the door with more force than necessary.
"Like I told you earlier, don't mind him," Soap tells me, playfully shoving my shoulder as a means of lightening the mood. "Needs his beauty sleep, aye?"
Price scoffs. "Phoenix, you're down this way," he says, leading me further down the hallway. Soap disappears into his own room on the way. Price points to a closed door with the number '4' on it.
"She's all yours. Let us know if you need anything, but you should be alright until the morning, at least. See you bright and early, soldier."
I smile brightly as he enters his own room and shuts the door.
My room is nothing special, not that I'd expected much from an outpost base like this. Honestly, it's a miracle I'm even being granted my own space. I set down my duffle bag and start getting ready for bed, unstrapping all of the gear that I'd had on from earlier. Once I'm out of my uniform and into a pair of grey sweatpants and a black tank top, I set about making the bed and climbing in it once the sheets are on.
Sleep doesn't come easily at first, but once it does, the excitement from the day knocks me out cold.