This mission isn't any different than others.
A simple reconnaissance task—get in, get out, learn some more about the enemy.
You drop in from above, rolling down off rooftops without anyone knowing anything. Ghost turns out to be a half decent lockpick, and he opens the door with ease and a lot less kicking down than usual.
You've been chasing Russian tails for weeks now, and this mission is one that's taken days to plan, especially since this building is usually heavily guarded.
You find a file room, barely 12 feet by 12 feet, although Ghost would snap at you for using imperial.
It's filled to the brim with cabinets, and you and Ghost look at each other before immediately going through every cabinet you can open (or pick open).
Of course, it isn't that simple. It's never that simple.
It starts with a glowing bright aqua square about the size of a Rubik's cube. You pick it up, studying the edges. Whorls are engraved in the surface, and there were letters in a language you'd never seen.
Something about it seems alive, almost, and the light seems to come from within.
"What the shit is this?" you ask nobody in particular. Ghost looks up from where he's rifling through papers, eyes slightly widening.
"Let me see it," he says gruffly, and you toss it over.
Could have given me at least a please, you grumble mentally as he catches it.
He studies the cube carefully. "You ever seen this language?"
"Nope, looks somewhat close to cuneiform, though," you say, musing.
"Didn't realize you were familiar with the Cradle of Civilization," he remarks dryly.
"I liked studying history, almost went into it before I joined the army," you say, and he hums before speaking again.
"We should take this to Price."
You nod and continue tearing apart the room, finding nothing of importance.
"This was a waste," you say, and Ghost nods in agreement.
Your gaze catches on the cube again. It's not quite as bright as before, but the color keeps shifting, going dark and light. He raises it to look at, and his finger mindlessly taps it.
An earsplitting whine erupts.
"What the fuck?!" you yell over the sound, clasping your hands over your ears as you drop to your knees. It's like shockwaves, sending pain all over your body. Your head feels like it's going to crack in two.
Just as abruptly as it started, it ends, but your connection to consciousness is frayed. Blinking past black spots, you can see that even Ghost is shaken, if his wide eyes are anything to go off of.
The cube tumbles from his fingers, and you wince, expecting another shriek.
It's silent, and from your spot on the floor, it seems to sway in place.
"I don't feel so good," you say, and that's all the warning you give before you collapse sideways, blacking out.
.-.-.-.
You catch snatches of conversation from your place in the black.
"—fuck was that? It busted our comms and we weren't even in the room—"
"—came from that thing—"
"—passed out—"
"—start testing—"
"—was a bomb?"
You sink back down.
After what feels like an eternity, you blink your eyes open.Your throat feels like it's on fire, and every muscle in your body aches.
"Jesus Christ," you croak, staring at the white ceiling. With effort, you push yourself upwards, ignoring the way your head swims with the movement. There's a glass of water on the nightstand next to you and you snatch it, gulping it down.
Looking over, you have a miniature heart attack to see Ghost staring at you from a crappy med chair.
"Sorry," he says, not sounding sorry in the slightest.
"Have you been watching me sleep?" you demand, slightly creeped out.
"No," he replies, shifting his weight. His gaze is as infuriating as always.
You can't remember exactly why you hate him, but you do, and you've given yourself enough justifications over the months to make it reasonable.
Kinda.
You draw on your reserves of hatred for strength and prepare to have an incredibly awkward conversation with the person you'd least like to talk to.
"What do you want?" you ask, moving so you're not pivoted awkwardly.
"I want to have some questions answered," he answers cryptically.
Oh for God's sake.
"That language—you said it looked like cuneiform, right?" he says, and you nod.
"Definitely. The characters were all wedge shaped, but I wouldn't be surprised if those whorls symbolized something."
His fingers tap, a rare sign of fidgeting. Usually, he's still as a statue. It's kind of unnerving.
"They probably do," he agrees. "Do you have any idea why Russians would have something like that?"
"No," you admit. "I don't even know what it is."
"You should take a shower," he tells you, and it's enough to get your hackles rising.
Dick.
"My apologies," you say sweet as sugar. "I'll get right on that."
He nods and his weight shifts in his chair again. Christ, what did he want? It was obvious at this point.
"Think of a number," he tells you.
It startles you enough to soften, slightly. "What?"
"Think of a random number," he repeats.
37.
He sighs, rubbing his thumb over his palm. "Thirty-seven."
You blink, taken aback. "Lucky guess."
"Not really. Think of another one."
Fifty-four.
"54."
"How are you—"
He sighs again, his shoulders slumping slightly. It's the most defeated you've ever seen him, and it's kind of shocking.
We got connected. Telepathically. he tells you in your head, and the world drops out from under you.
The last thing Simon Riley expects to happen is to get a link between him and the brain of the person who happened to hate him.
.-.-.-.
Christ, he needs a drink.
The ride back in the chopper had been incredibly tense, especially as Cardinal had been passed out, her prone form folded awkwardly on the seat.
A couple times, she seems almost to rise back into consciousness, but she stays under.
"What the fuck was that?" Soap demands. He'd come along as a backup, and he was the only one there other than Ghost himself and Cardinal.
"It busted our comms, and we weren't even in the room with you," he continues. "All I hear is this loud pitched screech, and then everything's fuckin' upside down."
"It came from that thing," Ghost says, nodding at the aqua blue cube that's now sitting peacefully in a plastic Ziploc. "It made that godawful noise, and then Cardinal passed out."
"I don't blame her," Soap says seriously. "I almost did and I wasn't 2 meters from the source."
"Think we should start testing on it?" Ghost asks quietly. Things could always get turned into a weapon.
"Nah," Soap says. "Let's just agree to get this thing back to Price so neither of us have to deal with this thing."
Ghost nods, and they sit in companionable silence for a moment, before Soap leans forward again.
"Do you think that it was a bomb? Some sort of sonic one?"
"Wouldn't it have fallen apart, then?" Ghost shakes his head.
Eighty-five and counting, sir. Cardinal's voice filters through the static of his head.
He whips around, expecting to see her talking, but she's still as passed out as ever, eyes closed and breathing steadily.
He needs a damn drink.