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Gaz had not had much time to come to terms with the latest turns his life had taken. A mission going horribly south in the middle of nowhere, Poland, turned into a bullet through the chest cavity. He felt himself die as he suffocated on his own blood, the team not able to save him in time. But—
—But he woke up. Science claimed that you could never see new faces in dreams, but his dreams showed him new faces that day. He woke up with a full body heaving gasp, terrified, as he struggled against the canvas around him. He felt colder than he ever had in his life, and he had undergone recon missions in a Moscow winter.
They had brought him back to base after the shit-show of a mission, and put him in the morgue.
He had stumbled through base naked in the deepest parts of the night. He needed to go to his CO, but he would be damned if he did it without clothes, so that had been priority 1. Clothes acquired, he meant to walk into the building that housed his superiors. He did!
But a feeling had him hesitate. What was the procedure when you had been mistaken for dead, no trace of wound in sight and left for the dead? He still felt disoriented and off-balanced, but he had a feeling in his gut that this situation was far from a simple mistake. He had been right, of course, but he would have never in a million years guessed this.
That hesitation was all it took.
First lesson of immortality: head wounds still hurt, even if you heal quickly.
For the second time in as many days (he was assuming), he came to consciousness somewhere completely different to where he had been before. There had been a man. There were many things he could have cataloged about the man at first glance, but the overwhelming impression? His hat was horrible.
He would learn many more things about John Price in the coming days, but that first impression would never change.
The place he had been kidnapped and held hostage (“gently relocated, soldier. We were extra gentle with the precious cargo.”
“Yeah? Then why was my head still bleeding—”) was an abandoned church, in a room that was set up like a group of middle class squatters had moved in in a hurry. There were three others, besides the hat man, and each was so drastically different that he didn't know which one to focus on. One had a bloody mohawk.
His hands were free. Maybe they hadn't thought they needed to restrain him after kidnapping him from the military, but he righted that assumption with prejudice before anybody got a single word in.
Did he win?
No.
The big one in the skull mask planted his ass on the floor while digging a painful knee into his ribcage, but not before he caused some significant property damage first. (“I’m gonna miss that side table.”
“Soap, it was from Ikea.”
“It was sturdy!”
“Not enough, obviously. Your ugly mug broke it just fine,” Ghost mumbled.)
While he was pinned, the hat man introduced himself as Captain Price. No first name given. It had taken Gaz a week before he found out that his name was actually John, and that had only been because of an offhand comment from Laswell judging the use of his real name on a fake passport.
Then he went on and explained the concept of immortality to Gaz, and that he apparently was one now what the fu—
Anyways, it was highly unbelievable, at least until the only woman in the group cheerfully stabbed him clean through his hand.
(“Kate, you couldn't have come up with something a bit less violent?”
“It worked, didn't it? Besides, it was revenge for the TV.”
Yeah, the TV had been a civilian casualty, but it had cracked pretty satisfyingly over Price’s back. Sue him, his day had not been going well up to that point. Laswell had taken its death personally, and Gaz still wasn't sure if she’d forgiven him.)
He’d watched the skin close up in mixed horror and fascination, and the shock of that had been enough to make him sit still for the rest of the explanation. He made fun of them all about this moment later on, by the way. Price would cuff him on the back of his head after he bluntly pointed out that it was clear they only had to give the “welcome to the whole being immortal” speech every few centuries. Surely with a few hundred years to prepare, it would be a good one. But no.
The gist of it had been, ‘welcome to the being unable-to-stay-dead club. We’re the good guys, even though I kidnapped you, she stabbed you, he won't take his creepy skull mask off, and he has a mohawk and a frankly scary grin. We’re an army of six, now seven including you, and we complete death-defying missions every other Tuesday. Here, we bought you a crepe.’ And then the little unimportant bit about an American general trying to capture them all and torture the secret of immortality out of their bones, no big deal.
Captain John Price was the first immortal that anyone knew of. He refused to tell anyone how old he was, and the others had been trying for a long time. When Gaz had asked about his captain rank, the old bastard admitted that they had all done a stint on a pirate ship to interrupt the slave trade and also ruin a few government officials’ days. He had captained the ship at the time and the title had stuck.
Kate Laswell was the second oldest, and she also refused to tell anyone how old she was. She claimed that she didn't remember, but she spoke fondly of ancient Greece. So. She was over intelligence for the team usually, and she was the one who kept up with their global contacts. She seemed fond of casually name-dropping important historical figures, and Gaz was just rolling with it until he figured out if she was really serious.
The next oldest was Farah Karim, born sometime around 1080. She was the only other woman on the team and an honest-to-God assassin from the original order of assassins, because being immortal wasn't enough badassery, apparently. Gaz was looking forward to meeting her, but for now she was one of the two deep in a mission in some Middle Eastern country, so it would be some time probably.
Ghost and Soap? They were the two most insane motherfuckers that Gaz had ever met, and he had been in the SAS for years. They didn't give their actual names and he didn't ask. If a grown man wanted to be called Soap, Gaz wouldn't stand in the way of his happiness. As they told it, they had died the same day sometime in the late 1200’s in the Scottish wars for independence, dying almost on top of one another after discarding their weapons and resorting to tearing at each other with hands and teeth. They claimed they’d spent the next 150 years chasing each other across Europe and Asia in a deadly game of tag, until they got tired of killing each other and decided to kiss about it.
Alex Keller, the one currently away with Farah, had been the youngest prior to Gaz. If almost 300 years old could be considered young. He originally died right around the time of the Revolutionary War according to Soap, and there were hints about a story there, something he would have to wait to hear Alex tell, apparently.
Ghost had made everyone dinner while Soap sat on the counter next to him doing some illegal things with his eyes, wrapped up in their own little world. Price and Laswell had ignored them like professionals, Price smoking a cigar while flipping through an old magazine, and Laswell by working on her laptop facing away from the two lovebirds. Gaz followed their example and focused on anything but those two in the kitchen.
“Are they always like that?”
“Yes. Have been for the past…” Laswell looked at her watch, “700 years? That sound about right to you John?”
“732 years and 7 months.” He answered while turning a page. Laswell looked up from her laptop and frowned.
“That’s an oddly specific number.”
“You get stuck with it for that long, you start counting the days too. I almost miss the days where they were trying to kill each other, or weren't talking or were dancing around each other, but this is somehow an improvement.”
“Huh.” Laswell went back to her laptop with a shake of her head. Gaz thought something was kinda sweet about 700 years together, but he hoped that in 700 years, they had learned to multitask and not burn the food while flirting. Gaz was hungry.
Dinner was ready blessedly fast, and it was actually pretty good. Obviously they spent more time on their cooking skills than their interpersonal ones. They should start out with the meal next time.
So here he was, eating dinner with a team of immortal warriors in a French church on a crappy Ikea table. He didn't know if his head was supposed to be able to hurt, but it did. Price seemed to notice something, because he directed Gaz to a little bed in the corner of the adjacent room. Gaz had learned how to sleep anywhere in the military, so after the day he’d had, he face planted into unconsciousness almost immediately. Dying apparently took it out of a person.
His dreams were vivid. One immortal, the woman named Farah he assumed, cried silently as she watched a compound go up in flame. The fire haloed her in soft orange light, and the flames caught the light of her tears, making them stand out even in the darkness of night. Then the flames were gone. She searched through the ash and mangled steel skeletal ruins and didn't find what she was looking for. Her scream... the sound was gut wrenching.
Then, he watched as the flames rose up, and he burned. But they were immortal? He, Alex, Gaz thought, was still as the dead, no signs of movement or life even when the flames had died some. And then the people melted out of the shadows, watching intently before the flames fully died. They dragged him out of the destruction and watched, guns trained on him, gas masks preventing Gaz from identifying their faces. Alex made a truly awful noise of agony, and they hastened to fully secure him on a backboard, not minding his exposed, horrifically slowly healing wounds as they strapped him down.
Gaz woke up like he had touched a live wire, the sound startling the other occupants of the small room. He was too busy trying to shake off the feeling of grief and of fear as he clutched his shirt over his heart in a white knuckles fist.
“Gaz? Wha’s wrong? Yer shakin’ is movin’ the whole room.” Soap’s accent was thick from sleep. He slowly reached over to Ghost who had been sleeping in front of him, and gently pushed the gun down without looking away from Gaz.
“The other two… when was the last time you contacted them?” Ghost sat up fully, temporarily blocking Soap as he swung his legs over the bed.
“Why, what did you see?” Gaz explained the dreams he’d had, and Ghost left the room with a curse. Soap moved to sit next to him in the bed, projecting his movement before placing a hand on Gaz, giving him time to reject the contact. When Gaz remained still, Soap gently rubbed his back and hummed a gravelly jig of some sort quietly. It sounded like a drinking song. Gaz almost got mad at him for treating him like a child after a nightmare, and was more mad that it was working. Gaz knew he was a child to everyone here, but he could still be annoyed. Soap’s hand brushed away the remaining tension in his shoulders and he slumped over.
He only sat up when a mug waved under him, the steam of the liquid wafting across his nose. Ghost was on the other end, and the smell was that of some kind of herbal tea. Gaz took the mug appreciatively, and Ghost handed the other mug in his hand that Gaz hadn't noticed at first to Soap. Captain Price had followed him in and sat across from them on the bed that Ghost and Soap had been in. Ghost sat next to him and Soap stayed by Gaz’s side, never pausing gently scratching at Gaz’s back.
“Ghost filled me in on your dream, Gaz. You alright?”
“I felt Farah’s grief and I felt Alex’s pain as he died and woke up again in agony. I’m fine, but I had not been prepared for that when I went to sleep.”
“We had contact with Farah and Alex three days ago, but nothing since. Kate and I are going to go into town to see if we can reach them, until then, you three sit tight here and try to get more rest if you can.” The captain patted his shoulder and Ghost followed them out to see them off.
Gaz nursed his tea, using it to warm his hands. He had a bad feeling, especially after that dream.
“You goin’ back to sleep, Gaz?” Soap asked.
“No, I don't think I’d be able to after that.” He admitted.
“S’alright. I’ll go work on making everyone an early breakfast if you and Ghost want to work on finding the other TV we have hidden somewhere around here, aye?” Soap patted his back gently before standing.
“Sure, I can do that.”
Soap was loud as he set up the kitchen for cooking. He seemed like a loud person in general, humming and cursing quietly to himself as he accidentally sent some of the cookware clattering. Ghost and Gaz split up to dig through some back rooms in the place, but were having no luck. It was still nice to focus his mind on something that was a simple task, but he and Ghost gave up after a few minutes of searching with no luck other than a new collection of spiderwebs and dust to show for it. He turned to head back to the living space at an easy walk that turned into a jog when a boom tore through the church from the direction of the kitchen. Ghost had been far ahead of him, sprinting around the corner.
He burst through the living space door before he was blinded and stunned by a secondary explosion. He really should have known better than to run into a room that had just exploded, because when there was one blast, more could follow. He only managed to take in the nature of the second explosion as a flash-bang before he was knocked unconscious.
Price shook him awake. His eyes burned and he sat up with a startled little breath that caught in his chest. Laswell looked concerned from over Price’s shoulder. Shit.
“What happened?” Gaz shook his head, trying to will away the burning in his eyes and the tinnitus from the secondary.
“That’s what we want to know. We just got back but we don't know where Soap and Ghost are.”
“Soap had been in the kitchen cooking and Ghost was heading in that way when something happened. A bomb and then a flashbang or something? What’s going on?” Price and Laswell shared a grimace. Price stood from the crouch next to Gaz, holding out a hand to haul him up. Gaz accepted it and followed behind the two older immortals as they crept towards the kitchen door with Price in point and Laswell sweeping the rear.
Gaz’s shoulders dropped a degree when they rounded the corner to find Ghost facing away from them, but something was wrong. The man stood unnaturally still, not even breathing from what Gaz could tell.
“They took him.” Ghost whispered, deadly calm and quiet. His eyes focused unblinkingly on a spot on the floor with a startling amount of blood but no Soap.
“Fuck, did you see who took him, Ghost?” Ghost remained frozen and unseeing. Price’s grimace seemed bone deep. “Ghost, forgive me for this,” Price petitioned him like some people prayed before standing in front of him, blocking the bloodstain and slapping the masked man square across the cheek with an audible smack. “Ghost! Focus. Who took Soap?”
The face Ghost made as his head slowly rotated back to neutral after the smack could have re-frozen the arctic, but he bit out an answer. “Shadows. Saw them before the second explosion. Bound him up and dragged him out of the hole they made in the exterior wall.” Price cursed loud and violent enough to make a sailor blush and sent a chunk of wall flying with a booted kick. Ghost had returned to unearthly stillness.
“Kate, find where those American fuckers probably took him. See if any of your contacts have anything. We’re moving. Pack your shit and wait here for the signal. Those shadows might still be around. Ghost, go clear us a path.”
Ghost vanished like his namesake into the night, melting into the shadow of the wall. Gaz was so lost. Price and Laswell scrambled to throw things together into rucks that they could pack out.
“Is Ghost okay? Who are these Shadows and why did they take Soap?” Gaz didn't exactly have anything of his own to pack, so he took the pack he was handed, and the gun that Laswell handed off. He checked the clip and safety, pocketing the additional clips.
“Ghost has a bad history with capture. It messed him and Soap up for a long time.” Laswell sighed, “They’d come so far, before this. Back to square one.”
Price stepped in, filling in details about the Shadow organization. “The Shadows are a private mercenary group hired by General Shepherd in the US army led by Phillip Graves. We worked an op for Shepherd a few years back, and usually we wouldn't work another since we try to limit repeat missions, but this one had been right up our alley. It was an ambush by a group of Shadows, and he got footage of us dying and waking up again. His pet mercenaries have been out for us ever since. We’re working on going after him to destroy any evidence that the bastard has gotten his hands on, but we had to split up temporarily when we dreamed of your awakening.”
That was icing on a shit cake. Of course they had a General from the US army after them for the secrets of immortality, or whatever the draw was. He had a few more questions but was distracted by semi-automatic rifle fire and shouting. It was startlingly loud. “Shit! Was that the signal?”
“You’ll know what the signal is. I almost pity the poor fools that Ghost has found, especially since they took Soap.” Price snorted and lit a cigar, patting his hat down on his head. Both were fully packed now and were just waiting, relaxed but prepared to move.
The noises from outside sounded like more than a few men. “Doesn’t he need help?”
“No.”
Gunfire drew closer to their position in the building. Seriously, what were they waiting on?—
The main church door flew inward with an almighty bang louder than the ones that took out him and Ghost initially. Price nodded, “Alright, hostels cleared. Time to move out.” Price stepped over the rubble and an unrecognizable body, entirely unbothered and still smoking that cigar. His hand was loose on his own rifle, the strap carrying the majority of its weight. Casualties littered the ground, the fresh blood looking black in the moonlight of the early morning. Gaz had seen many things in his time, but some of the bodies of the Shadows were particularly stomach-turning. Ghost had not worried about clean kills.
“Let’s go, Gaz. Ghost will meet us there.”
“Meet us where?”
“Our closest stockpile location.” Price was surprisingly gentle when he rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He released him with a pat, meeting his eyes understandingly. “Let’s roll, soldier.”
The stockpile was in a cave. A very deep natural cave in an abandoned mining system. It was filled to the brim with objects of all types, a collector’s paradise. Or a hoarder’s. Art piled up the walls, probably priceless. Books littered any flat surface. Gaz picked one up as he watched the other two settle in and realized he was casually holding a first edition First Folio of William Shakespeare’s plays. He had read an article about one of these selling for millions a few years ago, which was the only way he knew it’s worth. He eyed the books, paintings, and sculptures around him with a new eye, wondering how much money was just sitting in a cave.
“Is this real?” Gaz held up the book, feeling dirty just for touching something so valuable with his bare hands.
“Hmm? Oh, that. Yes, it was a bit of a joke, because Shakespeare and Soap notoriously did not get along. Actually, you and he also didn't like each other, did you John?” Price looked away mumbling a string of words that neither of them could decipher. His eyebrows furrowed like a great canyon where they met.
“Okay, well. Anyways. This is an older storage location for us, we haven’t been back here in 40 years. But it still has some useful things in it for us and we need a safe place to set up camp so I can figure out where they have Soap.”
Price set up a fire and the soft light and heat was a welcome change. Gaz was so curious, especially since Ghost hadn’t made it here yet for whatever reason, so he asked one of the questions that had been weighing on him. “So Soap and Ghost. They’ve both been captured before?”
“No, just Ghost was captured. It was probably back in the first World War from what we’ve gathered.”
“Wait, you weren't all together?”
“Not this time, no. We had all split for a few years to cover more ground since all of Europe was unraveling at the seams. Ghost was taken as a POW and when they noticed that he didn't stay dead, they tortured him for years to find his limits and to figure out how he ticked, we assume. Soap eventually found him and blew the whole prison sky high after releasing the other prisoners, then spit on the ashes afterwards. They wouldn’t let each other out of their direct sightline for a decade straight after that.”
“Wrong.” Gaz nearly jumped out of his skin and both Laswell and Price cursed, swinging guns at the newcomer.
“Fucking hell, Ghost!”
“They were trying to turn me into an obedient soldier for them. Wanted to see if they could make more of me by figuring out why I didn’t stay dead.” Ghost spun a blade in his right hand, the firelight glinting off the edge of the otherwise black blade. He was sitting against the wall like he’d been there for a while. Gaz tried to convince his soul to return to his body after Ghost scared it out.
“We’ll get him back, Ghost.” Laswell promised. He watched her with dull, empty eyes. He pocketed the blade somewhere in his kit and with his other he tossed a handful of protein bars in their direction. He rested against the wall meditatively, not eating anything himself.
Laswell worked through the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, finally getting a hit.
“Guys, I have something here.” Ghost, Price and Gaz crowded around her laptop, where she pulled up a thread of emails, online receipts, and pictures.
“Is that where they have Soap?” Price asked.
“No, but it’s something. This is Graves’ house, the fucker who runs the Shadow Company. I say he looks like he could use some company, yeah?”
“Let’s get to it. Where?”
Ghost answered, having pulled the laptop closer to himself to scroll through the info Laswell had compiled. “Central Texas, middle of nowhere. Fucking Americans. House is built like a fortress.”
“I have a fight set up for us. First class, of course.” Laswell winked at Gaz and he felt a pit form in his stomach.
“Let’s do what we do best and go have a chat with the man, aye mate?” Price looked at Ghost, who tilted his neck with a crack and smoothly rolled to his feet like a predator rising from a hunting crouch.
He found out that flying first-class had been both a joke and a lie very quickly. Just because he couldn't die now didn't mean it wouldn't hurt when this rickety tin-can fell out of the sky because the walls peeled away or an engine failed. For people who had millions of dollars worth of artifacts just sitting in one cave, it's not like they couldn't actually afford first-class, and he honestly asked himself what he’d done in life to get him to this point. Helicopters already freaked him out enough as it was, the way the plane shook and rattled when they ran through turbulence made his teeth clench and his eyes screw shut.
They did make it though, and obtained a car from somewhere shortly after landing. Gaz didn't ask where it came from because he wanted plausible deniability. Laswell and Ghost went on ahead to scout the land around the house, leaving Gaz and Price to sit in an empty public park outside of the closest town under a shade tree to escape the heat.
He idly scrolled through his phone while they leaned up against the hood of the car, but there was nothing that caught his eye. Now that the military thought he was dead, he didn't have much to go back to anyways.
Price scratched his beard and pulled out a cigar case, lighting one and puffing out sweet smelling smoke. “You have any family back home?”
Gaz startled at the sudden question but responded, “I have an older brother, but he has his own family and kids. My dad died when I was six, KIA, and mom died of cancer a few years back. My brother will think I’m dead, won't he?”
“It’s for the best. Family complicates things, when they don't understand why you get to live and stay young, and they continue to age and die. As if living forever is anything but a curse.”
“Did you have family, sir?” Gaz asked after letting that depressing statement wash over him.
“I was the oldest. Big family of sisters and brothers, no father. I was the closest thing they had to one, and I had to leave them. They couldn't handle it when they found out. Don't even remember their faces anymore.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was so long ago, and I have the team now. And one of my soldiers was taken right out from under me.” He bit out a curse, looking in the direction that Laswell and Ghost had gone, the corners of his eyes tightening. Gaz wondered how many years, before the others, that he had been alone.
“The team is your family, sir.” Gaz pointed out. It was clear as day how tight-knit they all were. Gaz was the FNG, the outsider, and he longed for the connection that they shared with each other. He always had. One of the draws of military service was having a team of brothers and sisters to fight next to; to do good next to those who would also die for you. They had that, and losing one of their own was an unforgivable blow when all they had in the world was each other. Gaz only had an inkling of what they felt, and he still ached for them.
“You're part of it now too, son.” Price answered without hesitation, lighting Gaz up from the inside. The warm hand on his back was welcomed, especially when Gaz felt unmoored by the concept, foreign as it was. He would miss his family, but his brother had people to support him now. Gaz didn't have anyone outside of duty. Hadn't had.
“Thank you,” He choked out. Price smiled at him, his eyes warm.
“Now, after that touching heart-to-heart, are you ready to go blow some shit up, Gaz?”
Gaz chuckled, “Of course, sir. And its Kyle. My name is Kyle, sir.”
“Alright, Kyle. Let's go get back our own.” He handed Gaz a duffle bag from the trunk. Time to kit up.
-
The house was a sprawling eyesore. Tacky and tasteless and overconfident, considering an entire section of wall was made of glass. Ghost and Laswell had located entry points and they had a plan of attack. Their plan? It was super involved, if by involved they meant a fully involved structure fire. Demolitions were apparently Soap’s specialty, but Price knew enough to get them through and in the house. Ghost would be on overwatch as the best sniper on the team, and Laswell would spot for him. Price and Gaz would be on infil, which suited them just fine. Price carried a gun in one hand and had a large ax slung across his broad back.
They left a trail of bodies in their wake, Ghost calling any out that approached from his vantage point. The Shadows inside the house were drawn to the explosion and they Picked them off without too much hassle. Within minutes, Gaz had Graves tied up in a chair, gun pointed at his head with a steady hand. Price leaned against the desk in front of Graves, his hat blocking his eyes as he lit a cigar. Gaz gave him an A+ for the dramatics of the whole thing. Real movie moment.
“You made a mistake Graves. Taking one of our own? You couldn't just leave well enough alone, could you?”
Graves smiled a sleazy smile. “Oh, old Johnny-boy? He’s having a grand time right now, I’ve heard. It’s so interesting that y’all can regrow limbs. Shepherd is just in the testing stage at the moment, but I’ve heard that he's going to start taking samples soon, and he’s starting big.” Gaz had to hand it to him, he really knew what to say to push every single button for every single person. Gaz pressed the gun harder into his temple and Price stalked forward, grabbing a fistful of hair, using his hold to drag the man closer.
A noise rolled through the comms that sounded inhuman, followed by a scuffle. Obviously, Ghost had not appreciated that imagery.
“You tell me where they’re holding Soap, and I’ll be the one to deal with you. Bullshit me and I’ll let Ghost in here and I’ll walk out and close the door. I’m sure you remember Ghost, don't you Phillip?” His eye twitched, a barely noticeable flinch; the only give in his face.
Price put his cigar out in the pile of paperwork on the desk, uncaring that it caught fire. The paper curled and flaked away, catching more and more of the paperwork before eventually starting to catch on the desk itself. “You do, then. Wonderful. Where is Soap?”
-
Downtown Philadelphia, in a skyscraper. Not even a military base? Gaz was shocked in some ways, but he also figured that if Shepherd was freelancing, he wouldn't want the military to get their hands on his little project. Probably their only saving grace was Shepherd's own ego.
Laswell had them blueprints within the hour, and they were on yet another plane within two of leaving Grave’s house. They passed the fire truck on the way out, once they hit the main road. What a pity that Graves had to put his house so far removed from society. It took so long for the fire department to arrive.
Price strapped a huge battle ax across his back, and multiple guns, knives and daggers in special sheaths. Laswell mostly stuck to guns, her exception being a wickedly sharp short sword that she kept sheathed at her waist. Ghost had two swords crossed over his back and another at his waist, along with an arsenal of other various weapons similar to Price. Gaz only had the guns he had selected and a few throwing knives, but he would be pestering somebody for sword lessons soon.
There would be no overwatch this time, nobody could be convinced to hang back with one of their own on the line. The actual infil was rather simple. Laswell captured one of the workers and stole her ID to get in as the worker was leaving for her lunch break, Gaz presumed. They swiped themselves in with no fuss and cleared the levels as stealthily as they could. Systematically working their way up and checking every room for any signs of their wayward Scotsman. They all worked together like a well-oiled machine, and Gaz fell right in next to them.
Ghost had been the one to find the room they held Soap in, in the end. Ghost kicked in the door and his eyes immediately found the table Soap was strapped to. The biggest surprise was the other man strapped next to him. Gaz recognized him as the man he had seen die in his dreams. Alex.
Gaz and Laswell guarded the door while Ghost and Price released Soap and Alex from their bindings. Ghost ripped at Soap’s with his bare hands until they bled, and was only stopped by Soap’s voice speaking softly to him. Price much more efficiently cut Alex free, and the new man rubbed his arms to encourage the circulation back into them. Ghost’s voice trembled and Soap crooned soft reassurances to him, which would have gone over much better if Soap hadn't been covered in fresh blood. As soon as Soap was free, he pulled Ghost in for a crushing kiss, pulling up the mask as they breathed each other in.
“Easy, easy m'eudail, you found me, I’m here. I wouldnae leave without ye. We promised, remember?” Ghost rested his forehead against Soap’s and pulled himself together. “Let’s get out of here, aye?”
“Aye.” Ghost’s voice was pure gravel, wrecked by his own emotions. And probably some smoke bomb damage too. Whoops. Gaz handed over a gun to Soap, which he accepted with a grateful smile, and Ghost removed the sword he had carried in on his belt. His own swords were stained red as they lay where they had been carelessly dropped moments ago. Price armed Alex and they spoke quietly to one another. Price clapped him on the back of his neck and brought their foreheads together fondly.
“Your ass is out, love. Put some pants on before we leave.” Ghost cut his eyes towards Alex. “You too, Alex. Nobody but Farah wants to see your pale ass.”
“‘How are you, Alex?’ ‘Oh, I’m fine, Ghost, thank you for asking.’ I've just been exploded and tortured, no big deal. Just your average Tuesday. Hope you’ve been well too, considering it's been five years.” Alex dragged Ghost in for a bracing hug, releasing him and moving through the room greeting and hugging the team until he got to Gaz.
“Nice to meet you Alex, I watched you die a few times. It seemed awful, so… sorry.” Gaz was also pulled into a firm hug, and took a moment to hug back in his surprise.
“See Ghost, that's how you greet people!” Ghost entirely ignored him, but Alex wasn't bothered.
Soap pecked Ghost one time on the mouth and sent Ghost off searching for pants while he hugged the rest of the team. Gaz didn't know why he was surprised the man also hugged him since they had only known each other a few hours, but his arms were warm and friendly and felt like home. He knew how to give a hell of a hug, and Gaz felt the familial love in it already. Even if his ass was still out.
“Thank you for comin’ along with ‘em to get me. This hasn't been easy on you, but you came anyway. I’m beyond grateful, mate.” Soap whispered into his ear and squeezed harder before releasing him. Gaz was almost dazed as he stepped out of the circle of Soap’s arms and just barely avoided a pair of flying jeans that nailed Soap in the face. Soap growled something towards Ghost out in a language that he didn't recognize, but Gaz was entirely sure that it was a mean statement.
“Know anythin’ about reactive chemicals and flammable things, Gaz?”
“Only enough to not get myself in trouble.”
“Want to learn how to get in trouble?”
“Fuck yes, show me.”
Soap seemed to be taking great joy in setting as many small fires as he possibly could, his enthusiasm not dulled by the fire sprinklers going off and putting them out. He had taken Gaz under his wing and they were going through and systematically destroying anything that looked like it could be of value or scientific use. Gaz assumed some of these machines were beyond expensive, but Soap destroyed them with prejudice.
Shepherd wasn't in the building, unfortunately. The coward stayed holed up and let his minions do his dirty work most of the time, but they could still take out the minions and do some significant property damage. Ghost got his hands on the scientist that had been collecting samples from Soap and kicked all of them except Soap out of the room to do war crimes, probably.
Plausible deniability. That was becoming Gaz’s new motto, with this team.
The scientist probably deserved it based on all the samples they had destroyed thus far and the concerning amount of blood that had been on Soap’s hospital gown. Gaz managed to find a server room and called Laswell over. Gaz covered her while she extracted the data she could in the minutes they had, and then she threw a frag or two in and dragged Gaz out the door, slamming it shut in time for a series of loud explosions to shake the whole floor.
“Time to go. That probably destabilized the floor for this level.”
They jogged out of the building when Ghost snapped at them to evac, meeting Price outside. Soap and Ghost ran towards them a moment later. Ghost was carrying both of their swords across his back as they sprinted.
“Take cover ya eejits!” Soap cackled as he sailed by them, and Gaz finally noticed the remote in his hand, held together with duct tape and a dream. He smashed the button with a wild look in his eyes, watching as the whole building imploded on itself, the fires cascading out from where they had already been set and mixing with the explosive charges. A cloud of dust and small debris blanketed them, and Gaz blinked the grit from his eyes to watch the building settle. Or what used to be the building.
“Ka-freakin’-boom baby!” Ghost looked at him with such a besotted expression in his eyes as Soap watched the flames. Clearly Gaz had gotten it wrong when he had believed Ghost to be the most unhinged of the two. Gaz wanted to be Soap’s best friend. Sorry Ghost, Gaz was stealing Soap for at least a weekend to pick his brain at some point about explosives.
“Load up, let's get the hell out of here.” Price waved them towards their car and they all piled in, scooting to make room for all four reasonably large men to fit in the back with Laswell in shotgun and Price at the wheel. Soap ended up on Ghost’s lap and neither even pretended to be upset about it. They peeled out of the scene with squealing tires, only just starting to hear sirens from an approaching fire truck.
They were able to decompress some after everything at a safe house Alex directed them to in a small Virginia mountain town. The house was so far off the road that it took a 5 minute drive through a gravel driveway to reach it, through a cattle panel locked gate. The house itself was a log cabin that had seen some age, but had clearly been built solidly and with care.
Alex caught Gaz looking. “I built this many years ago. Lived here for a while.” He shouldered the door open when it stuck in the frame, swelled with the humidity. “Laswell, is there any way to contact Farah and let her know that I’m okay?”
“I’ll work on getting a message to her as soon as I can, Alex. For now, rest. All of us.”
-
Gaz and Laswell made a trip into town for food and for sending out a message to Farah. Alex, it turned out, was the best cook of them all and threw something together quickly over a wood stove before passing out for 12 hours straight on the small bed in the single room cabin. Soap was equally tired, and he passed out on the couch not long after. Ghost guarded them both while they slept, sitting with his back against Soap’s stomach, effectively pinning him between a dusty couch back and a solid wall of muscle. EvenGhost felt the pull of sleep though, and Price sent them all off to bed while he promised to keep watch for a few hours.
Gaz pulled up a few blankets and stretched out on the floor by the couch at Ghost’s feet, and Laswell slept propped in a chair. Laswell and Price had switched watch at some point, leaving the rest of them to sleep. Gaz was the first of the group awake besides Laswell, and decided to see if he could manage a simple breakfast for everyone. The rest of the team woke up with the smell of bacon and eggs cooking, but there weren't enough plates for everyone so they passed the pans around from person to person, everyone eating their share straight from the pan.
They stayed in the cabin for a few days, waiting for Farah to arrive and planning how to handle the problem that Shepherd was still breathing. They would come up with something solid soon, but for now they worked on moving to a base of operations with actual rooms and running water. Shepherd would meet the consequences of his actions soon, but for now, Gaz took in his little part of this dysfunctional, immortal family, and didn't dread the thought of hundreds of years with these people at his side. Especially once he convinced Price to let Ghost teach him to fight with a sword.