Black Swan | Ghost & König [I] ✓

chapter 7

The interior of the chapel was cool and dank.

"I'd rather not be fucking stuck in here with you," you growled, your SMG held at rest in your grasp as you entered the building. Ghost's footsteps were muted against the floorboards. How does he do that?

"Trust me, sweetheart, I'm not too thrilled about it either," he said. His rifle was pointed downwards, both hands clutched on its body.

You clicked your tongue, deciding to change the subject as you and Ghost sweep the area of potential threats. "Did Soap get shot?"

"Hm. The other day you didn't seem to care for him too much, and now you're asking if he's okay?"

"Putain d'idiot. I don't give a shit about him," you said coldly. "It was a simple question."

"He did get shot," he ignored your insult. "But he's alive. I know he is." He sounded uncertain.

"You sound unsure," you mused.

He didn't reply.

You felt awkward and tense, your shoulders and neck tight as you continuously readjusted your grip on your weapon, scanning the area for possible threats. Once seeing it's clear, you called out. "The area's clear. We're safe."

His body language was still firm and stiff. He turned on his heel and examined your body up and down. "You're bleeding," he said.

"What?" you blinked.

"Your leg. You've been shot, Lieutenant."

You gaped and gradually scanned down your body to your injured limb, genuine surprise washing over you when you felt and saw the bleeding darken your black trousers.

"Sit down," Ghost commanded, gesturing his head towards one of the pews in the chapel. You shut your mouth and stitched your brows together.

"No."

"Are you fucking crazy? You're injured. Sit down."

"No," you repeated insistently. "We need to get out of here and find Soap. I don't particularly care for him, but if we're gonna get to Austria and disarm that missile he'd be a big help."

Ghost sighed. "Have it your way. I don't really care."

You scoffed as the pain in your leg began to set in. It throbbed and pulsed, the bleeding becoming more prominent as time went by. You frustratingly forced yourself to walk through the chapel and scavenge for some bandages. You didn't find bandages, but after rummaging through some dusty wooden cabinets and shelves, you found some of the priest's robes.

You plopped down onto a pew and undid your belt, shimmying your pants off your body until you were left only in your undergarments. Mindlessly, you tore off a large and compact strand of the robe and began to tie it tightly and firmly around your wound.

There were a pair of eyes watching you heavily the entire time.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" you said, stopping to assess the expression he communicated through his eyes. From what you could make out, his countenance revealed slight embarrassment and confusion.

"What are you doing?" he asked rather quietly.

"Stopping the bleeding," you replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Bullet when clean through, so I'll be fine."

"Does it not hurt?"

"No," you jeered. "It doesn't. At least not badly."

"Damn."

You glared at him. "You were hoping it did?"

He said nothing.

"Tell me what you know about König," you demanded, changing the subject so quickly it would give someone whiplash. "You're hiding something about him to me. I need to know what it is."