Chapter 7, by me, ecto1B. Hope you enjoy, and please review :]
Disclaimer: Well, you know the drill. Obviously neither of us own anything having to do with MW2. But Arhani 'Hanny' Daforcena owns Ryuka (Reddie), and I, ecto1B, own Mckinley (Queen)
Enjoy! XD
Pvt. Mckinley "Queen" Front
Task Force 141
Encounter Base- Location Classified
The wind lapped at the entrance to her tent, making the canvas flaps flutter in response. Mckinley watched the eccentric dance for a moment while seated on her cot, marveling in the different motions the wind took the canvas; like a feather, it quivered against the evening breath with elegant moves. Once in a while, the wind would slow or be stalled, and the canvas would return to its stiff, rigid state alongside its twin. And then, as the breeze picked up again, they were back to the unsystematic dance of theirs.
Mckinley found herself somewhat fascinated by how inconsistent the wind was. Never was it subjected to rigorous training regimens, or obliged to fight in a war that it did not completely understand. It wasn't given such difficult decisions like she was, like deciding if she wanted to become a Black Ops specialist alongside some of the most talented and influential soldiers on the planet.
Exhaling slowly and shutting her eyes, Mckinley rested her elbows on her knees, clasped her hands together, and leaned forwards. Her long red hair tumbled downward, becoming a protective veil about her face and letting her eyes absorb the settling darkness.
What do I do?
Choosing to follow through with their suggestion would mean pain, much more pain than that of what she experienced during the sixty-one day training she'd received while attending the Army Ranger school. It would mean that she'd have to put every single portion of her ingenuity and vigor into guaranteeing that she was accepted. And she'd have to endure forms of torture to become a specialist, not to mention a handful of other requirements.
Choosing not to become a specialist would most likely disappoint her commanding officers. They'd spoken very highly of her, praised her, even. If she backed out, they'd surely stop giving her so much acclamation.
Again, she felt herself sighing. There was a burdening weight seated on her shoulders—she could sense it—and if she didn't get rid of it soon… well, she didn't want to think about that now. Sooner or later, Mckinley would have to give her answer.
A small gust of wind managed to slink past the tent's entrance, and Mckinley, feeling it rush against her cheeks from behind the mass of red hair, lifted her head and tossed her hair back over her shoulders. She was getting mildly used to seeing Ghost's skull-adorned balaclava, but now, when the sun was dipping beneath a glow of pinks and oranges on the horizon, his mask seemed to emit its own light. He truly looked like a ghost standing there, and if she hadn't recognized him instantly, she would've believed herself to be hallucinating.
"Sir?" Mckinley bit her lower lip when he didn't respond at once. His looming figure in her tent's entry was starting to make her nervous, for some reason.
Finally, his face moved from its motionless stare.
"Sorry, Queen, I was—" he paused, coughed, and continued, "—thinking about something…" His voice grew serious as he tried to disregard his strange actions. "I've just come by to ask if you've made a decision yet. About becoming a specialist, I mean."
Mckinley blinked. "Yes… well… erm…" Unintentionally, she diverted her eyes from him and into her tent. "I'm on the fence, to be honest, sir… I really do want to become one, but I'm a bit worried that I'm not the right person for the job."
From the corner of her eye, she watched him stroll inside her tent and sit down backwards on the foldable chair across from her cot. He laid his arms on the chair's backrest and then put his chin atop his arms, studying her intently.
"You doubt that you'll be able to handle the position." It was far from being a question. "That's not somethin' I'd expect from you, Queenie. You seem like a very optimistic person."
Shrugging, she glanced up at him. "Truthfully, I'm not. I find flaws in myself that no one else finds. Like today, for instance, at the firing range. I shut my eyes before I fired that perfect shot."
"So?"
She smirked sarcastically. "Tell me you shoot your enemies with your eyes closed."
He disregarded her question. "But your second shot, remember? Your eyes were definitely open that time. I saw 'em."
"What does it matter, really?" Mckinley crossed her legs and leaned back on the cot. Her arms extended straight back, propping her up so she could still see him. "That was one shot. You guys must fire, like, thousands during missions, and I bet only one or two miss."
Ghost chuckled. "I bloody wish that was the truth, lass."
"I have other reasons, too," she went on to say. "Like… not really wanting to be tortured."
"Well, that's completely understandable. Though it is for your own safety that 'ya learn to withstand it. And Reddie does the stuff herself; it's not some stranger you've never met before, like it would be in real life."
Mckinley ran her tongue across her top row of teeth. "I'm just still unsure, sir. I mean—" she motioned at him with a flick of her hand, "compared to you, and Reddie, and MacTavish… I look so inadequate and lame. And it has nothing to do with the level of responsibility the job entails, I just don't wanna become a laughingstock because I'm a girl and I couldn't complete the training or whatever."
Ghost rapped a finger against his chin, making an effort to solve her dilemma. "What if you tagged along with Reddie on one of her missions to see what kinds of things she does?"
Her eyes glanced downward as she considered his proposal. Taking a few slow breaths, she ran across the idea with a fine toothcomb. She had to admit that his idea was a good one. Ryuka was an incredible soldier, a master at most fields of war. Mckinley already saw her as a role model that she could admire and take after when the time seemed fit. Accompanying the woman on a mission to truly get an aspect on being a Black Ops specialist would only enhance the integrity of her choice.
"That sounds good," she said finally, "but wouldn't she find me as a hassle if I had to go with her? I don't wanna be a burden all of a sudden."
Again, a deep rumble of laughter came from behind the man's balaclava. "Queen, she won't think you're a burden. She supports you. She doesn't want to see you fail."
Mckinley returned to her earlier position on the cot, with her elbows on her knees. "I believe you… but I'd actually prefer to hear those words come from her mouth so I know that's really how she feels, instead of just forcing her to work with me."
"Though I'm pretty sure there's no need, I'll bring up the subject with her tomorrow at breakfast, if you'd like."
Mckinley couldn't help but smile. Since she'd got there, Ghost had seemed to do everything in his power to make her life a little bit easier. He was turning out to be a wonderful leader and friend. Never mind the fact that his bizarre mask seemed to appear out of the blue constantly.
"That'd be great, sir." He stood, and she did the same. "Thank you. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to come to a decision, but—"
Ghost cut her off by approaching her and putting a hand on her shoulder. "First off, it's Ghost, not sir." A smile crease appeared on his mask. "Second, it's completely logical that you're taking your time with the choice. It's a big thing to decide on. I appreciate you finding the matter so important and taking it as seriously as you are." He paused. "You'll do fine, Queen. No matter what you choose." Ghost took a step towards the tent's entrance. "I'll see you in the morning, eh?"
She nodded obediently, having to bite her lip to keep herself from releasing a curious blush into her cheeks.
"Goodnight, sir—I mean, Ghost."
"Goodnight, Queen."
