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Ghost tightened his glove straps around his wrists. Double checking his knifes and the rest of his gear. Finally the clock hit noon and he went off to the isolated section of the base. Where they kept the prisoners of war. The ones too important for a bullet through the back of the skull. Recruits skittered out of his way as he crossed the campus, his mind already going grey around the edges.
Giving a curt nod to the guard at the building's door he was let in without issue. The halls were quiet and bright white. The overhum of the florescent lights and the lack of windows adding towards the out of time claustrophobia of the space. Ghost was assigned their most recent capture. A right hand in the branch of weapons dealers the higher ups pointed them at months ago.
Ghost let the repetitive thud of his boots on clean white tile drown out his thoughts. He was a Ghost, not a man. Thud thud thud thud, in time with his slowing heartbeat. A weapon. A mutt. Trained to attack whatever his Captain pointed him at. Thud thud thud thud. And right now, his Captain had him pointed at the man behind door 27B.
Ghost took one last deep breath before unlocking the door and stepping inside. The room was dark and windowless, a single bulb settled inside the height ceiling of the small room. The prisoner was tied to the chair, arms and legs bound down with thick cuffs and leather. Ghost nodded to the guard beside the man, excusing him from the room.
Once they were alone and the door lock clicked in place, Ghost started his work. Turning away from the man to face the small table near by. Taking out a roll of leather from his thigh pouch he started to unroll the toolkit on the table. Scapels and pliers of all sorts settled neatly in their place. "Well if it aint the 141 mutt." The man spat, saliva hitting the side of Ghost's boot. The man didn't speak, only glanced down at the spit and back up at the prisoner.
They stared at eachother for only a moment before Ghost was back to setting up his tools. Price had given him free reign on this one. The man was just as legally dead as he was, so the captain was keen to overlook usual interrogation ethics to get the results they wanted. Ghost was almost purring with excitement at the idea. He didn't show it outwardly however, choosing instead to ignore the prisoner and his russian curses.
"Tell me where Barkwood is, and I will stop." Ghost said loudly and firmly, positive the man heard him. He wouldn't speak again. There was no use in repeating himself. Instead he finally turned to the man. "Id rather die than tell you corporate pigs anything." The man spat at him again. He had already been roughened up by the extraction team. But Ghost didn't mind. It might even make his job easier.
Flicking out the blade of his favorite knife he set to work. The point wasn't to kill the man, at least not until Ghost got what he needed. He crouched down in front of the man and tilted his head. A prompt, a moments pause, silence. Then the bone chilling scream the man let out as Ghost jammed the blade under his kneecap and twisted violently. A sickening pop squelch of the tissue disconnecting seemed to echo louder than the man's screams.
Ghost could feel the dark tendrils teasing the back of his mind as he felt the hot blood trickle over his fingers. True fear finally shown in the man's eyes as he realized Ghost would not be playing fair. Yet no answer. So Ghost yanked out his blade, watching the leg twitch with its broken nerves. Wet sobs slipping from the mans lips as he struggled to breathe through the pain. Ghost stood up, returning to the table for a towel to clean off his blade.
The man yelled and spat like a dog, and yet no answer. Ghost ignored him as he cleaned the blood from the blade fully. Once he was satisfied he looked back to the man. Another tilt of the head. The man cursed in russian and thrashed against his bonds. Ghost went back to his spot before the chair. Flipping the blade casually as he waited. Nothing but thrashing and cursing. The man attempted to kick him with his one good leg but Ghost was not having it.
One more flip and the blade was buried deep under the other kneecap. Another wet pop crack as he seperated that one. More beautiful screams. Ghost twisted further, feeling the muscles and flesh pull away under his blade. The man was begging. Blabbering on to some god for mercy. Ghost only watched, eyes staying locked on the man. Witness to his suffering.
He pulled out the blade again, rougher than before. More blood bubbled and spilled to the surface, staining the man's jeans darker. More wet sobs. Ghost shrugged and went back to the table to clean off his knife. His gear had blood on it, but he didn't bother cleaning that up. Once the blade was clean again to his standards, Ghost returned to his target.
The man was glaring at him, struggling to breathe through the pain. Ghost tilted his head again, the same question. Yet the man only grit his teeth and stayed silent. Ghost gave him one more moment before his weight was shifting. His body turning to give him extra momentum in his kick to the man's lower left rib cage. He felt bones crack under his boot and the chair the man was strapped to rattled in its bolted position. The scream made his ears ring.
Ghost could taste his own blood in his mouth. His vision blurring as he stared down at the sputtering man beneath him. Each breath a wet wheezing gasp, blood dribbling down his lips. Ghost gripped the man's hair and forced his head up. "Im not….giving in." He spat, blood splattering over the skull mask Ghost wore. Ghost didn't flinch, just stared into the man. He must have been a sight, the false bravery behind the man's eyes was faltering.
Ghost released his hair and stepped back. He went back to the table and picked out a sharp bladed scapel. It was a delicate tool. Exactly what he needed. Ghost returned to the man, standing between his broken knees he knelt, digging his knee into the man's crotch painfully while he grabbed him by the chin. The grip tight enough to keep the man from spitting at him. Then he got to work.
His strength holding the thrashing man in place as he carved a skull into the man's face. The blade quick and efficient in slicing and pealing away the layer of skin as he worked. Each scream choked in a gargle of blood. Ghost worked calmly and slowly, taking his time to wipe away the obscuring blood with his thumb. The thrashing doing nothing to shake his clean linework. It was almost meditative in a way.
Once Ghost was finished he stood up to observe his work. The bloody skull, his trademark, staring back at him. The man was limp in the chair, still breathing and still awake. But limp. Ghost paused before him. One final chance. "Dykh-Tau." The man finally whispered. "Hes….in a base at the food of Dykh-Tau." Ghost smiled under his mask. Tossing the scalpel carelessly back on the table he flicked open one of his larger knifes.
"Wait wait you promised! If I told you would stop!" The man begged, end of life panic giving him a burst of adrenaline. Ghost chuckled and gripped the man by the hair once more, tilting his head up and slicing clear through it. Blood spattered his uniform, gurgling and bubbling from the sudden wound. Ghost released the man and he head lolled back, the muscles that heald it up split cleanly by his blade.
He returned to the table, listening to the quiet drip of blood on tile as he cleaned and put away his tools and knifes. A ritual of his to come down from the high of an interrogation. Once he was done he unlocked the door and stepped out into the hall. The guard was still beside the door. Ghost gave him a nod. "Send the audio from the last ten minutes to Captain Price. We have our next target." He ordered, ignoring how the man's eyes glanced down as his blood covered gear.
He made his way to a clean room at the end of the hallway, using the rags and cleaners to wipe down the blood from his gear and tools. It was a methodical and silent process. His mind still a fuzzy auto pilot. Once every drop of red was wiped clear, he left the building. They would probably drop the man's corpse where they took him. Ghost’s skull face a clear threat to the men they were hunting.
Once he was back in his room Ghost allowed himself to shut down. Despite his efforts, he was still unfortunately human. His ears rang with the man's scream as he carefully stripped from his gear and hung everything back up. His mind replaying the scene as he stripped down for a shower. Seeing the man's skull cut face in his mirror. Ghost had to grip the counter and close his eyes until lights popped behind them to avoid vomiting up last night's dinner. After the first few interrogations he stopped eating before hand.
The shower was cold. He was reminded of the man's heavy russian accent. Ghost dressed in a daze, getting stuck sitting at the edge of his bed as everything finally hit him. He could feel himself floating away. His eyes going dull as he stared at some point on his wall. The world seeming to drift off and blur around the edges. His mind a white void of passing thoughts.
It took him way too long to realize someone was talking to him and touching him. Everything felt faint and sounded underwater. "Simon?" He could hear the scot, barely. Muffled under layers and layers of haze. He tried to refocus himself but it was impossible. He couldn't breach the surface. He was drowning in himself. "Simon please." Soap begged, cupping the man's cheek in his warm hand. Ghost was trembling. He couldn't come back. He was trapped.
"Come back to me." Soap plead. He couldn't. Ghost was only sinking faster and faster. The floor falling out from under him. He was falling. Someone was crying, maybe it was him. His body shook like a storm. Each breath a gasp well fought for. Soap was squeezing him. Dragging him back into his body. Squeezing him back into place. He was gasping, clutching the other man tightly. The scent of the scots bodywash overpowering. His warmth. His smooth voice muttering something Ghost couldn't understand.
Tears spilled down his cheeks. The death cry of the man he killed still ringing in his ear as he drowned in the blood he had spilled over his life time. Soap held him through it all.