TO say the least, Ghost was not fond of whatever game Clara was playing. He had the suspicion she'd do something as soon as she gave him a twitching smile earlier, but it wasn't until after shooting with Vince that he discovered what she did.
Down the corridors scraped Ghost and Vince's shoes, their soles brushing against the ground. It was a casual training session with the silence of Vince, which Ghost never really experienced when practising with Soap's prattling.
He wouldn't even classify it as a training session. Vince's aim was so superior that at one point, Ghost thought Vince ought to be the one teaching him his ways, not the other way around.
They strolled down the halls with no initial plan on where to head next. Ghost thought of stepping outside to get in a dose of nature, and he surmised Vince had the same idea after the sergeant remained at his side.
Behind them came the sound of heavy panting, followed by a Scottish accent.
"Henley, L.T.," Soap acknowledged. His skin gleamed with sweat and his face flushed a light shade of pink. He lifted a sore hand to lightly slap Vince's arm. "Is his aim better than before?"
Ghost darted to Vince. "He's makin' progress."
"Didn't think he needed help in shooting," Soap breathed out, "last time I checked, he's better than me."
Vince shook his head and was about to refute Soap's statement until he noticed an irritated mark above his brow. "What've you been doing?"
Soap let out a sigh and reached to touch his forehead. "It's still there?" He asked, muttering more to himself.
He waved an excusing hand to the others. "Spade was just helping me improve my close combat skills. She got me a few times, but so did I; it's nothing big."
Ghost snapped his head towards the sergeant. "Spade's teaching you self-defence?"
Soap curiously looked at him with a smirk. "Aye."
"Since when?"
"Since today."
"She still isn't easy on people I see," Vince laughed.
Soap raised his brows. "You too?"
"Oh yeah. It's good practice though; she's the reason I'm supposedly better than you." His cocky grin widened after Soap jokingly punched his arm.
"Where is she, then?" Ghost cut in.
"Who, Spade? She's still in the gym," Soap squinted at Ghost's interest.
He let out a low grumble, well aware of what she was doing. He noticed her reaction when they ran into each other but hadn't thought much of it.
Vince's nudge snapped him out of his thoughts. "Why, you wanna go see her now?"
"No," Ghost responded, eyeing his smirk. He had a feeling they'd take his interest the wrong way.
Soap and Vince shared a playful look that made Ghost groan. "C'mon L.T.," Soap taunted, "it's okay if you want to leave."
Ghost forced his voice to sound huskier than it already was. "Shove off, Johnny."
When he turned to Vince, the sergeant already had his hands raised in surrender before he could scold him too. "Aye, I won't judge if you liked her."
Soap spat out a scoffing laugh. "Oh, I definitely won't either. And I doubt everyone else would blame you — I already caught a handful ogling at her earlier."
Ghost expected that. He knew she'd attract the attention of many soldiers the second he saw her. Aside from already having quite the reputation, Clara was a woman who naturally held an immense amount of beauty.
Another thing he noticed was that Clara was generally kinder to everyone but him. In uniform or not, Clara always gave others a heart-stirring smile that Ghost seldom received. It was unfair treatment, he thought.
"Lieutenant Spade an' I are far from close, and I don't mind that," Ghost said. "I just want to make sure we're on good terms before our next mission."
While Ghost was looking ahead, his peripheral vision caught Soap air-quoting his words to Vince.
He snapped his head to Soap. "It's for the sake of the team," he continued, "I don't want anyone dying from our hands."
Vince tilted his head. "And how's that working out for you?"
"Not great," Soap coughed out.
"Actually," Ghost attempted to counter, "I reckon we're getting civil. We spoke during breakfast."
Soap snorted. "You two argued about tea and coffee. That doesn't count."
"It was a polite debate..."
"You have any idea why she doesn't like you?" Soap asked.
Vince hummed. "Might've been from Ghost stealing her kills; she hates when people do that."
"I also implied for her to take her scarf off."
"Right, there's that. It's a neck gaiter by the way, and she doesn't mind you." Vince gave him a sympathetic smile. "It's nothing personal, she just loves that thing to death."
"Why's that?" Ghost asked. Usually, he wouldn't ask about people's lives, but his curiosity got the best of him this time.
Vince sucked in an overplayed sharp breath. "You gotta ask Clara about that, I'm afraid."
Soap exaggerated a hum and nod. "She sure would love to tell you about it herself."
"I doubt she would," Ghost grumbled.
"Why don't you go find out?" Vince smiled.
He gave it some thought. With being teased by grown men about his love life, seeing her didn't seem too bad.
Ghost slowly turned to Soap to find him already smirking back. "Where's the gym?"
Soap lit up and pointed to the corridor behind them. "Turn left at that end, it's the second door on your right." He slapped Ghost's back. "Have fun, L.T.!"
Ghost shot a sideways glance at him. "Nice chat."
When he began to walk away, Vince and Soap continued having a not–so–quiet conversation about him and Clara.
"If they had children, you think they'd know how to fight since birth?"
"Oh yeah. I bet they'd kick our asses as toddlers too."
Ghost huffed, straightening the creases of his shirt. "Unbelievable," he muttered.
Ghost roamed through the halls, sharply turning every corner with remote coldness in his eyes. Every soldier who passed him cowered and lowered their heads, but he'd been too focused on finding her to care.
Just as he swivelled left into a new hallway, a door located a few feet away from him creaked open and revealed a blur of Clara's dark hair.
She kindly acknowledged every soldier who passed her with a smile, deliberately ignoring the sound of heavy footsteps trailing behind.
She didn't turn back to check who it was. Clara preferred to catch them by surprise before they managed to do so to her, so she heedlessly skipped into the base's library and hid next to the doorframe, already with a guess on who her tail might be.
Ghost lost her the moment he entered the room. He arguably almost caught up to her in the hall, so she couldn't have had time to hide behind a shelf. Clara was not at the front desk nor was she occupying a table, which meant two things — she was either behind him or already snuck out the door. And Ghost knew better than to believe she ran from threats.
"Is there a reason you're following me?"
He turned around to find Clara casually leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes raked with a hint of disdain. "I wanted to talk."
"Clearly."
"It's..." He suddenly trailed off, wandering his vision over to the bookshelves, the poster on the wall, and generally anything other than her.
Clara softened her frown once he detected his discomposure; his body language spoke for her more than his eyes needed to.
"Hey," She pushed herself off the wall and walked closer. "if you need anything, or someone to talk to, please just tell me."
Ghost blinked back. No words came out; he simply stood and stared.
There was a hypnotising glint in her eyes affecting his mind, swarming his memories until he couldn't remember his original train of thought. His high-strung heart combined with the shivers of his stomach produced an unfathomably strange feeling, one that made him uncomfortably roll his shoulders back — it must've been from the food he ate.
"Ghost?"
The unresponsiveness concerned her. Ghost was idle, too rigid that she began to wonder if she was imagining his presence. Had she been talking to air?
"Ghost?" Clara repeated. She cautiously pressed a hand to his shoulder and weakly pushed back. He hardly moved, only merely tipping back, but she was relieved to know that he was not a hallucination.
"I didn't help Henley to spite you," Ghost's gravelly voice startled Clara into quickly withdrawing her arm.
She cleared her throat sheepishly. "I know you didn't."
"I apologise if it seemed like it did."
She shook her head. "No, it's not your fault I reacted that way. I too have been excessively moody towards you, so I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry too," Ghost lowered his gaze, taking notice of the white hand wrap around her hands.
Clara creased her brows, moving a loose strand of hair from her face. "You have nothing to apologise for."
"Same goes to you," he pointed out.
Clara gave Ghost a courteous nod and spoke in a serene whisper. "Then we're both okay."
She turned her heels towards a bookshelf when Ghost suddenly spoke again. "You're a good person," he announced.
Clara halted, slightly tilting her head to the side. This was a first, she thought: Ghost deadpanned every he said to her until now.
"Thank you?"
"I'm being serious." His voice was still a low rumble, but his words were kind.
"I'm sure you are," she slowly nodded, half–convinced. "And you're a nice leader too. It's good to know you care for the team."
Ghost hummed. He couldn't give a damn if Clara liked him or not, but he wouldn't mind if she continued treating him like this. The only thing lacking was that smile to reassure him that everything was truly alright.
While Ghost sneered at the inexplicable warmth in his chest, Clara sneered at the shame seeping into hers. His words brought her guilt more than it did satisfaction.
"You're a good person."
Yeah right. In her eyes, there was always a part of her past self established in her heart, the murderer who had made all the wrong decisions. She was, in a way, still the killer who watched preventable murders happen, and she will forever be that person.
Her heart wrenched upon the sight of contentment in Ghost's eyes; if only he knew.
Still, she tugged her lip upwards to form a grin before she walked away which, unknowing to her, had created a beauteous glow around her that only Ghost could see.
There it was.
♡♤♡
Ghost was relieved of a great deal of weight, but now he'd gotten more perplexed about his ongoing frustration with Clara.
The perspective of her that the media presented was opposed to the actual character of Clara. She wasn't limited to a mysterious figure who scurried from attention. She was an erratic person who always made it her goal to outshine him in any opportunity she was given, and Ghost hated how much he admired her for that.
Nothing must get in the way of his work, especially her — but Clara being the other lieutenant meant seeing her more often than he preferred.
It was a pensive stroll around the base having been assigned no missions, and it remained that way until Ghost almost collided with a furious Captain Price.
Price's trembling hands carried a laptop with him as he stomped past Ghost.
"You good there, mate?" Ghost asked, matching his pace with his.
"You were right," Price seethed, "you can't trust them."
Ghost almost stopped walking, remembering his initial impression of Clara and Vince when Price told him about their arrival.
"They would be able to ruin the group," He'd accused, to which Price dismissed his worry.
"Laswell trusts them, and I trust her, so we'll be fine."
Now it was the other way around. For whatever reason, Price obtained a grudge against them while Ghost had just begun to lower his guard around them.
Price led him into an empty conference room and set the laptop down.
Ghost shut the door behind him. "What'd they do?"
He kept his eyes on the illuminated screen. "You'll see."
Price's fingers harshly clacking the keyboard and his heavy breaths concerned Ghost, but he didn't interfere and watched him furiously type from the door.
Price clicked more buttons until he was able to get in contact with the woman who assigned Clara and Vince to the group.
"John, this better be important." Laswell's face appearing on the screen caused Ghost to instinctively firm up.
Price narrowed his eyes. "You didn't care to mention that they were affiliated with the enemy?"
Laswell eased her tense brows, her stern expression morphing into dread. She pressed her lips into a thin line. "That was a long time ago. Things changed."
"Criminals like them shouldn't even be able to get into the army. Be honestly with me; did you cheat them into the system?"
"They're not criminals, and no, I not cheat them into the system."
Ghost stood confused, witnessing Price's irritation increasing by the second.
Price glared at the remorseful woman. "So, how long?"
"What?"
"How long have you known Vince for?"
Laswell hesitated before muttering the answer. "Since he was fifteen."
"Since he was—!" Price chuckled to himself sardonically after taking in an exasperated breath. "Well isn't this just lovely. Did you know Clara was a killer before you took her in too?"
Laswell pushed her misery aside and looked daggers at Price. "Don't you dare start to accuse her," she sneered.
"Defending a murderer — didn't think I'd live to see you do that."
"She's not—" She cut herself off before her voice raised any louder. Now with a small scowl, Laswell slowed her breathing, then spoke as calmly as she could. "Let me explain."
Ghost wanted an explanation of the situation too, though he doubted it was as unfortunate as Price made it to be.
"There's not much to mention," Price insisted, "unless you can explain why Clara and Vince were in the notorious hostage video."
Oh. Maybe he was wrong; that did sound awfully grim.
"The explosion film?" Ghost asked.
"That's the one."
Price once showed a hostage video to everyone in 141. It took place in an empty field, featuring several individuals encircling a man in the way animals assist their leader.
It had been a warning video, directed solely to those who tried to stop him. Two individuals stood behind the man, heavily equipped with more fabric to hide their identity. With their presence, the man threatened the camera that the pair would be able to kill their beloved soldiers if they chose to interfere again.
Price claimed that even if the incident happened many years ago—long before Ghost was in the military—it was still worthwhile to learn from it because of the ending. The minute an enigmatic explosion went off, the threats stopped spewing, only because the man abandoned the scene before he could be tracked down. He had yet to be found.
When Laswell remained silent, Price carried on.
"I rewatched it to see if the man was involved with a recent incident and noticed a crooked scar across the one of the people's arm," with shaking hands, Price rolled up his sleeve to expose his arm and traced a diagonal line along the flesh. "Right here, just where Vince's scar is."
As much as Ghost didn't want to believe it, Laswell's silence revealed the truth. Then he became speechless too.
"You know what else is interesting?" he spoke just as Laswell opened her mouth. "When the explosion happened, he called out Clara's name."
Just like that, the mention of Clara made Ghost's breathing hitch as he was transported back into the same introspective state he had been in earlier.
A part of him was proud of himself for predicting that she was different. There was an aspect of her that stood out to him the moment he met her, and now it was just proven to be from his intuition rather than a potential infatuation.
"It's complicated," Was Laswell's response to Price asking what happened.
Ghost narrowed his eyes at the screen. "How so?"
Laswell threw her arms in exasperation now that both men started to go off at her. "They ran into a group of soldiers and were brought to me. Is that the answer you were looking for?"
"No." he snapped back, "doesn't explain the affiliation with an enemy."
"Look, I interrogated Clara and Vince the day I found them and they explained everything."
Ghost narrowed his eyes. "Did you film the interview?"
"I did, but—"
"Show us then."
She shook her head. "Unless I have Clara and Vince's permission to share the tape, I will not share the footage."
Ghost scoffed. "Sure, let's tell 'em we want to see their files 'cause we think they're terrible people. I reckon they'll take that lightly, yeah?"
"Sorry Ghost, but I need their consent."
"We can tell Soap to bring them here," Price suggested, "he doesn't need to know what we need them for."
A sigh came from the laptop. "I suppose that works," said Laswell.
Minutes later, Soap led Clara and Vince through the halls. He bluntly told him the exact words Price told him: "You're needed in a conference room."
So they followed and soon ended up talking to Laswell digitally.
"They know about you two working with Strono."
Clara stilled in the rolling chair, a surge of shivers striking down her spine.
Vince paled beside her. "How'd they find out?"
Laswell lowered her eyes. "The scar on your wrist gave it away."
He cursed under his breath, turning to Clara. "I'm sorry, I should've kept it covered like you do."
"It's not your fault," she reassured.
"It is. They found out because it was exposed."
Simply thinking about them made her heart drop. She should've known something was wrong when Ghost's eyes averted to the floor as she passed him in the hall. Would he forever harbour some sort of resentment and distrust for her now? And Price, the man she hadn't even spoken to yet — would he always view her as a murderer for the rest of her life?
Laswell's voice rang through the laptop. "They want to see the interrogation tapes."
Clara and Vince's head snapped back to the screen, making Laswell add to her sentence. "I won't show them unless it's okay with you guys."
Clara nodded vigorously. "Yes. Absolutely. Show them whatever they want to see."
Vince eyed her with a judging stare as though she said something ridiculous. She matched his expression. "What? There's nothing to hide anymore, they already know the worst."
Vince paused in consideration, then shrugged. "It's fine with me too."
On her way out, she encountered Ghost and Price standing a few inches from the door. Vince easily dismissed their presence with a shake of his head, but Clara briefly faltered her steps.
Price's eyes darkened as soon as she exited the room. She didn't direct an angry stare back. If anything, she showed him remorse.
She knew he and Laswell had been good friends for years now — there were chances she could've introduced herself in the past, whether it be when Clara roamed around Laswell's office or Price visiting Laswell's home. Yet she avoided talking to him face to face for the fear he'd resent her if he found out about her past. And she was right, to her dismay.
Sadness struck her more as she flickered to Ghost. This time, he was looking at her with the similarly darkened eyes Price had. It may have been predictable, but talking to him an hour ago made it seem like perhaps there wasn't any animosity between them.
There was a twinge in her chest that she could only blame herself for, knowing it was foolish of her to believe Ghost trusted her.
Clara stormed past just as the breathing skull–face pushed away from the wall.
"Spade—"
The next instant, he was hurled against the same wall.
Ghost stumbled back with a gurgled grunt. Oh wow, he thought — Clara just shoved him, and had managed to do so with one arm.
Oh, wow.
Ghost watched as her figure faded into the distance, fists clenched, his legs anchored to the floor. He hoped she felt the stare he burned her back with.
Clara's shirt may have pointed out the toned muscles she owned in both arms, but Ghost assumed that wouldn't be enough for her to move him aside.
She wasn't considered short either. At least, according to the "All About Lieutenant Spade" article in his room, she wasn't. Ghost supposed being roughly five feet and eight inches was a reasonable height to own the strength to push, maybe budge his bulky figure. But with one arm? Now that left him oddly stunned.
He remained dumbfounded as Price opened a link Laswell sent him, and stayed spaced out until the first tape began to play.
"We're rolling," Laswell said off-screen.
Ghost recognized her immediately. The girl in the chair may have had more doe-like eyes and a youthful gaze, but she was still the same Clara he familiarised himself with.
A younger Clara sat upright in a navy blue windbreaker jacket. Dishevelled twin braids dangled just below her chest, and a tattered neck gaiter similar to one she currently had hung loosely around her neck. Everything on her was tainted with blood and grime, her face smothered with plenty of it.
"Don't worry about the camera," Laswell said, noticing Clara's fixation on the lens. "If you cooperate, I won't have to disclose this tape to other officials."
Laswell clicked her pen. "Okay, please state your full name."
"Clara." Her voice had been far too quiet, Price reached over to the keyboard and increased the volume.
"Last name?"
Her eyes lowered to the table. "I'm not sure."
Laswell let out an amused hum. "Do you know how old you are, Clara?"
"Seventeen."
"And your birthdate?"
"October seven."
"Good. I'm going to ask you a series of questions, and you'll answer truthfully. Does that sound good?"
Clara kept her lips sealed but acknowledged Laswell with a nod.
"Okay. Let's go back to when our men found you guys — what would you say happened?"
"We were in the forest," she tenaciously stated.
"And...?"
"We ran into them."
Price chuckled at Clara's vagueness. "Stubborn thing, that one."
"It's smart. Keeping it private," Ghost defended. He was shushed by Price mid–sentence once Laswell began to talk.
"Okay. According to the soldiers you ran into, you all had some type of firearm on you. Where'd you get them?"
"The camp."
Laswell sighed. "Clara, you have to specify more for me or I'll have to bring you to the police."
She leaned back in her seat, her eyes growing wide. "It's just a camp, with tents and everything."
"You live in a camp that you access weapons to?"
"Only if you're trained enough."
"Trained enough?" The confusion was evident in Laswell's tone. "Okay, we need to back up a bit. What type of camp are you talking about, and who runs it?"
"It's not really a camp, that's just what everyone calls it. A man by the name of Strono runs it."
"Strono..." Laswell clicks her pen. "How do you spell that?"
"S-T-R-O-N-O."
"Is that his first name?"
Clara shook her head. "It's just a nickname. He's never told anyone his real name."
"I see."
The revelation of what supposedly happened that day sounded very demented to be true, but it was, and the proof lay in Clara's bloodstained appearance.
Laswell shuffled in her chair. "How'd you escape the camp if it's so heavily–guarded like you claim it to be?"
Clara remained composed. "We were the guards," she deadpanned.
"And the blood all over you — what happened?"
She peered at the inconsistent splatters distributed on her clothes, then nonchalantly looked back Laswell. "People tried to stop us."
The more Clara had revealed, the more guilty he'd gotten for misjudging her.
"How did you end up working with Strono?" Laswell asked.
Ever so slightly, her jaw grew tenser. "He found me alone on the streets and took me in."
"Where were your parents?"
Clara's lips parted only to be firmly shut again.
"I don't know," she answered, her ears and cheeks flushing red.
"That's okay," Laswell quietly replied, "and how old were you when this happened?"
"Five."
Price mumbled a curse. "Fighting since childhood, imagine that."
What had sounded most bizarre to Ghost was everything he discovered about Strono.
"What did he train you for?"
"Different things. Stealing stuff, destroying buildings, killing people..."
"Was this out of his entertainment?"
"Nope," she glowered, "purely for money."
"Money from who?"
"All kinds of people. The last one was for a drug cartel, I'm pretty sure. But from what I know, it was like an exchange: they give him money, and he gives them his word. If a rich person wanted to steal something valuable for example, they could pay Strono to conduct a raid using us. That's why he trained us so hard; he doesn't want to get caught. "
"I see. Do they help fund what he's doing as well?"
"Yeah."
Rustling of paper was heard off–camera. "This is getting long, so one last question for you: where's the camp located?"
She pushed a loose bang away from her eye. "There's no fixed location. We just place tents in remote places and only stay for a few nights until we finish our task."
"Did you escape the camp around the time you were found?"
"Yes."
Laswell's writing stopped. "Are there people after you now, then?"
"I don't think so."
"So they're still at the camp," She assumed.
"No. The camp is gone for good."
Laswell hummed. "Would you mind telling me what happened to it?"
A faint smirk played on Clara's lips. "I burned it down."
Ghost let out a low laugh under his breath. "Seems like her," he commented.
Laswell let out an overwhelmed sigh. "So what you're saying is, there's a man out there who teaches individuals how to fight, uses them to be assassins for other people, and gets paid for it?"
"Yes."
"It's not 'just a camp' then, is it?"
Clara looked straight at the camera as though she was emphasising the severity of their deeds.
"I suppose not."
AUTHOR'S NOTE
I feel like I should interact more lol, so how was everyone's day?
Another busy week that I was only able to write one chapter. I'm already getting started on the next one so it might come earlier, and if all goes to plan, the second mission will defo be introduced in the next chapter :)
Also, 500 hundred views is crazy — thank you!! I truly appreciate the comments and votes as well, I'm extremely grateful for all of it <3