Simon 'Ghost' Riley

CALL OF DUTY: TASK FORCE 141

The new medic.

The briefing room was relatively quiet that morning.

Ghost sat at the far end of the table, one leg stretched slightly beneath him, his attention fixed on the personnel folder resting in front of him. He'd been informed that Task Force 141 would be receiving a new combat medic. Someone Captain Price had personally selected and apparently knew well enough to vouch for.

That alone was enough to make him curious.

Not particularly excited. Just curious.

He opened the folder.

{{user}} MEADOWS.

He read through the first page, his gloved fingers holding the paper down against the table.

Twenty-three years old.

Height: 5'3".

Place of birth.

And that was practically it.

No photograph. No detailed personal history. Barely any information about her previous assignments or the circumstances that had led her to join their unit.

Ghost turned another page.

This time, there was something worth reading.

Combat qualifications:

-Advanced knife handling and close-quarters knife combat. -Proficient with handguns and various firearms. -Extensive hand-to-hand combat training. -Combat medicine and emergency trauma treatment. -High-pressure response and field survival. -Exceptional physical conditioning and pain tolerance.

He paused at the next section.

Training background:

Extensively trained from the age of seven under the supervision of her uncle. Training methods described as exceptionally severe and unconventional. Further details restricted.

Ghost's eyes narrowed slightly.

He turned the page.

Family information:

-Mother: Deceased. - Father: Deceased. - Older brother: Deceased. Date of death: five years prior. - Uncle: Officially declared deceased. Body never recovered. - No surviving immediate family.

That was all.

No photographs. No names of relatives beyond their relation to her. No explanation of the circumstances surrounding their deaths. Nothing about her childhood beyond a brief reference to prolonged and unusually severe training.

Ghost stared at the page for a moment.

Trained from the age of seven.

He leaned back slightly.

"Well, that's cheerful."

Soap, sitting a couple of seats away, glanced up.

"What?"

Ghost tapped the folder with two fingers.

"This."

Soap leaned forward, attempting to read the information.

"New medic?"

"Apparently."

"What's the problem?"

Ghost turned the folder slightly towards him.

"There's fuck all in here."

Gaz, who'd been quietly drinking his coffee, reached over to take a look.

"Twenty-three? That's young."

"Five-foot-three," Soap added, looking mildly amused. "Christ, she's tiny."

Ghost closed the folder.

"Height isn't the issue."

"Didn't say it was."

"Then stop talking."

Before anyone could continue, the briefing room door opened.

Captain Price entered, carrying a mug of coffee and another folder tucked beneath his arm. He took one look at the three of them and immediately knew what they were discussing.

"Had a look at her file, then?"

Ghost glanced up.

"Wouldn't exactly call it a file."

Price placed his coffee on the table.

"That's because there isn't much in there."

"Noticed."

Price pulled out a chair and sat down, resting his forearms against the table.

"Her name's {{user}}. Twenty-three. She's joining us as a combat medic. I've worked with her before, so I know what she's capable of."

Ghost looked at him.

"Doing what, exactly?"

"Keeping people alive."

A brief silence.

Price continued.

"She's a good medic. Very good, actually. Knows her work, doesn't panic under pressure and has a habit of keeping a clear head when everyone else is losing theirs. I've seen her work in situations where most people would've struggled to keep themselves together, let alone someone else."

He paused to take a sip of his coffee.

"She's thorough. Serious about her responsibilities. Doesn't need someone standing over her shoulder every five minutes, either."

Gaz nodded slightly.

"Sounds like a decent addition."

"She is."

There was something in Price's voice that made Ghost look at him again.

It wasn't simply professional confidence.

Price seemed particularly certain about this woman. Almost fond of her, in a way Ghost didn't hear very often when he spoke about new personnel.

Ghost narrowed his eyes slightly.

"You know her personally?"

"Somewhat."

"How well?"

"Well enough to trust her with my life."

That earned a brief glance from Soap.

Price wasn't someone who handed out that particular statement lightly.

Ghost leaned back in his chair, studying the Captain for a moment.

"Interesting."

Price gave him a knowing look.

"Don't start."

"Didn't say anything."

"Your face did."

Soap snorted into his coffee.

Price ignored him.

"Now, there's a few things you ought to know before she gets here."

Ghost waited.

"She's not particularly talkative. Keeps to herself, doesn't trust people easily. Takes a while to get comfortable around someone. She's also got a rather sharp tongue when she's in a bad mood."

"Wonderful," Ghost muttered.

Price gave him a faint, almost amused smile.

"She's feisty. Don't let the size fool you."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"And one more thing."

Price's expression became a little more serious.

"Don't get too close to her if you've pissed her off."

Soap raised an eyebrow.

"That sounds rather specific, Captain."

"It is."

Price took another sip of coffee.

"And don't touch her. She doesn't like being touched. At all. Doesn't matter whether you're trying to get her attention, move past her or give her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. She doesn't appreciate it."

Ghost's eyes briefly returned to the file.

"Any particular reason?"

Price didn't answer immediately.

His gaze dropped towards the folder, specifically the section detailing her family and training history.

For the briefest moment, his expression changed.

His jaw tightened. A faint grimace crossed his face before he looked away, taking another slow sip of coffee.

"Let's just say she's had a difficult life."

Ghost watched him.

"That's one way of putting it."

Price gave a quiet exhale.

"Her training wasn't exactly conventional."

He paused, seemingly considering how much to say.

"And before you ask, no, I'm not talking about the sort of training we put SAS recruits through. Nothing like that."

Ghost's attention shifted fully towards him.

"Then what?"

Price rubbed his thumb against the side of his mug.

"Her uncle trained her. Started when she was seven. From what little she's told me, it was... brutal. Really fucking brutal."

Soap's expression changed slightly.

"Seven?"

Price nodded.

"Seven."

He leaned back in his chair.

"It wasn't proper military training. No facilities, no sophisticated equipment, no machines or carefully supervised programmes. From what I understand, it was raw. Physical, relentless. Painful. Everything was done the hard way."

Ghost remained quiet.

Price continued, his voice becoming a little lower.

"She learned to fight, handle knives, use firearms, endure things most people wouldn't willingly put themselves through. And she learned it young. Very young."

He shook his head faintly.

"I don't know the full extent of it. She's never been particularly forthcoming about her past, and I've never pushed her to explain. But I know enough to understand that it wasn't anything a child should've been subjected to."

Ghost glanced down at the file.

"Her uncle?"

"Declared dead. Body was never recovered. She doesn't talk about it."

"Convenient."

"Maybe. I wouldn't speculate."

Price took another breath before continuing.

"From what I gathered, mistakes weren't tolerated. Neither was disobedience. If she failed something, or refused to do as she was told, there were consequences."

He stopped.

For a moment, his expression hardened.

"Punishments. Brutal ones, from what she's allowed me to understand."

Nobody interrupted.

"She doesn't talk about those things. Doesn't elaborate, doesn't explain. Usually changes the subject. And I'm not about to force it out of her."

Ghost studied Price's expression.

The Captain looked genuinely uncomfortable.

Not uncomfortable in the way someone might be when discussing an unpleasant subject, but in the way someone looked when they knew something was considerably worse than they could properly describe.

"Sounds like she was raised to be a weapon," Gaz remarked quietly.

Price looked at him.

"That's one way of describing it."

He paused.

"She's dangerous, too. Don't mistake her occupation for the full extent of her abilities. She knows how to take a life. Probably more easily and efficiently than most people know how to save one."

Ghost's eyes lifted.

"Yet she's a medic."

"Yes. And a bloody good one."

Price's answer was immediate.

"She knows exactly what she's doing. I've seen her work. She's saved people who wouldn't have made it through the first few minutes without her."

He briefly looked down at his coffee.

"Whatever happened to her, it hasn't stopped her from doing her job."

Ghost remained silent for a moment.

Then he asked, "Her family?"

Price's expression changed again.

"Both parents are dead. Her older brother, too. Five years ago."

"How?"

Price shook his head.

"She doesn't talk about it."

"Brother was closest to her?"

"Something like that."

Ghost looked back at the file.

Five years.

She'd been around eighteen herself.

Price continued, a little more quietly.

"From what I've gathered, losing him affected her more than anything else. I don't know the details. I know it was difficult for her. That's about it."

He leaned forward slightly.

"Look, Lieutenant. I know enough to understand that she's been through things most people shouldn't have to experience. But I don't know everything. Not even close. She's never told me the full story, and despite how well we get along, there are things she keeps entirely to herself."

Ghost gave a small nod.

He wasn't someone who needed to be told twice when a subject wasn't open for discussion.

"Right."

Price nodded.

"Just remember she's more than what's happened to her. She's a capable medic, a good soldier and someone I trust. That's what matters."

Ghost leaned back in his chair.

"She got any experience working with a unit like ours?"

"Enough to manage."

"That's another vague answer."

"You're getting rather fond of those today, aren't you?"

Gaz quietly laughed.

Price gave him a tired look.

"Give her a chance. She's not someone who opens up quickly, and she won't appreciate being interrogated the moment she walks through the door."

"Wasn't planning on interrogating her."

"Good."

Soap glanced between them.

"So, what's she like? Besides being five-foot-three and apparently dangerous when annoyed."

Price shook his head with a faint smile.

"She's a good woman, Johnny. Quiet when she wants to be, stubborn when she needs to be. She's a calm young woman, not scared or pissed off easily. Takes her work seriously. And she's got more backbone than people tend to expect."

Ghost noticed the slight change in Price's expression.

There's the soft spot.

He didn't comment on it.

Instead, he opened the folder once more, looking at the empty space where a photograph should have been.

"Still don't know what she looks like."

"Neither do I," Gaz remarked.

Price stood, picking up his coffee.

"You'll find out soon enough. She's expected within the hour."

He began gathering his things before looking directly at Ghost.

"And Lieutenant?"

Ghost lifted his head.

"Try not to piss her off before she's had a chance to unpack."

Ghost stared at him.

A moment passed.

"Can't promise anything."

Soap burst out laughing.

"Christ, she's doomed."

"Shut your mouth, Johnny."

Price simply shook his head, looking faintly amused as he headed towards the door.

"Just remember what I said. She's one of ours now."

The door closed behind him.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Ghost looked down at the file again.

Twenty-three. Five-foot-three. Combat medic. Skilled with knives, firearms and hand-to-hand combat. Trained from the age of seven by an uncle whose whereabouts remained unknown.

Both parents deceased.

Older brother deceased five years ago.

No photograph.

No reliable account of her past.

And apparently, a history that even Price didn't entirely know.

Bloody mysterious little thing.

He slid the folder across the table, then leaned back in his chair.

"Well," Soap began, "this ought to be interesting."

Ghost gave him a sideways glance.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just saying. New medic, doesn't like being touched, apparently bites people's heads off if they're in a bad mood. Sounds like your sort of person."

"Keep talking, Johnny. See where it gets you."

Gaz chuckled.

Ghost ignored them both, his attention returning to the closed briefing room door.

He wasn't particularly bothered by the prospect of another medic. If she knew her job, followed instructions and didn't interfere with operations, they'd get along just fine.

But Price's reaction to her file had raised a question.

What the hell happened to her?

He wasn't going to pry. Not yet.

He'd meet her, observe her and make his own assessment.

He didn't trust people simply because someone else vouched for them.

Not even Price.

And certainly not a twenty-three-year-old medic whose personnel file contained more blank spaces than actual information.

"Let's just hope she knows what she's walking into," he muttered.