My Strongest Weakness

Friendly introductions

Nothing made sense as Ghost listened to Colonel Williams drone on and on to Price about their latest mission success, the two having had a rousing conversation for the past two hours over missions and life, or whatever the Colonel thought was good to talk about after the hour long base tour the Vultures insisted be longer for the sake of knowing every single place in there. The rest of the Vultures were lounging around, some playing a card game as they chattered amongst themselves. There was a key thing missing however. The walking 6'10" battering ram the Vultures were here to sign over. "Excuse my being blunt Colonel," Price says after Williams' rant over the latest mission. Williams hums, tapping his cigar against the ash tray he and Price were sharing. "We aren't here to eat crumpets and talk like Uni girls squealing about their latest boy drama," Ghost hisses, staring at the entirety of the task force who were eying him with frowns. "Ah, yes. The contracted body we're signing over." Ghost bristles. He was already on the verge of shooting something - or someone. He had gotten little sleep the last four days due to knuckle-brained morons shipped to the base he had to train, and the mountains of paperwork needed to be finished, completely forgetting about the Vultures, and the new 'asset' they were receiving. Ramped up on coffee and energy drinks, Ghost needed to do something - something - other than listen to this worm spout obvious BS about how he and his equally dirty team of cockroaches wrecked an entire compound of men without more than a few scrapes despite the carnage Ghost had seen from the photos.

Limbs were twisted in odd angles, dried blood was spattered everywhere on the floor, the walls riddled with bullet holes and some covered in blood. The piles of bodies spread out across the long stretching halls seemed uncountable, blood covering them. A man's head was caved in for Christ's sake. These assholes don't look the type to fight for survival. Hell, some of them looked like they were one donut away from exploding! Ghost couldn't understand how Colonel Williams and his Vultures could sit here and take credit for something they had no part in. "Brown, get it in here."

Ghost folds his arms with an obvious glower, red eyes twitching in frustration. What felt like hours later passed and the door was knocked on, before the handle was twisted and the Private who went out had returned with a chain hanging loosely in his hands, and Ghost follows the chain up, up, up, to the thick neck of a hunched figure standing just beside the doorway.

Holy Fuck.

The private walks in, and the slave follows obediently, eyes glued on the ground as quaking hands shook the bonds wrapped around strong wrists. The most noticeable thing was the item covering the slave's head, ratty and used often judging by the absolute puddle of sweat that had accumulated over the tattered, hole-filled cloth. It was a miracle that thing was still in one piece. The same could be said about its full uniform. The second most noticeable thing was the smell. The acrid scent of body odor and what Soap referred to as 'field musk' plowed over Ghost's senses, and he was glad the poor Scot wasn't here and instead trying to comfort Gaz otherwise he would've riddled the entire team of Vultures with holes just from the fact that they hadn't given the slave a proper shower.

"Sit."

Immediately the tall pile of muscle drops to his knees next to Colonel Williams, and Ghost can't help but be absolutely flabbergasted at the small but disturbing act of control he just displayed on someone who could rip him in half easily. A calloused hand reaches behind the slave and grabs its neck, jerking its head back with a crude grin pulling on his perfect lips. "Like what you see, Captain?"

Williams turns the slaves' head at an awkward angle, and Ghost watched with utter disgust as wide hollow eyes just stared blankly at the table it was kneeling in front of, never even attempting to struggle away as it was forced to move in various ways, Williams seemingly enjoying the display of power he had over the slave. "You need to rule with an iron fist with this one. This is on a good day, Captain. Gentleness will not be tolerated." Each word seemed to make the slave shake more and more, and Ghost watches with a glare as the slave slumps forward, shoulders pulled to its ears, hands most likely grabbing the rags it wore as pants, chest heaving quickly as it seemingly began to spiral. "Are you ready for the hand over?"

Williams hums, a smirk that was betrayed by the anger that stirred his dark brown eyes, nearly matching that of the lieutenant. "Let's get some things straight, Captain. I was told we would be working with you on the next mission and then I would hand over my property. I will not tolerate you demeaning me, and will not have you telling me what to do. Secondly, we are guests at you compound. We will be given the best treatment and will not tolerate any kind of lip from you or your squad. Thirdly, do not test me. I did not earn my place by sitting around doing nothing unlike your team of degenerates." Ghost feels his fists curl, tensing as he planted his feet against the floor, ready to lunge at the Colonel who was simply smiling at them. His words were laced with venom, and Ghost couldn't hold the growl that had rumbled in his throat, eyes fixed on the Colonel and ready to strike. His anger was slowly bubbling over, the urge to stab Williams in the throat growing stronger each passing second. His Sergeant leans forward, putting on the most intimidating face he could manage, which really wasn't doing much except make the Colonel's words sound like a poor joke. "Fourth, you aren't working with us, You're working for us. Do I make myself clear?" Before the lieutenant could lunge across the table, Price replies. "Understood." Ghost glares at Williams for a long moment, before leaning back in his chair with his arms folded over his chest. Price could handle this clown and his posse. He didn't need the lieutenant's help. "Now let me make myself clear, sir. You will treat my men and I with respect. Your conditions will not be met, and we will not tolerate your attitude. Clear, sir?" Williams' smile only curls, the already thick tension increasing with each passing second they all stayed in the room. Ghost's eyes flick over to the slave still kneeled next to Williams, watching its entire body shake, cloudy blue eyes staying fixed on the ground, its crystal orbs glassy and tears welling in the sides of its eyes.

Ghost then fixes the Sergeant with a glare, the man's entire cocky attitude falling away when the two met eyes. The Sergeant's shoulders deflate, eyes widening ever so slightly as he and the lieutenant entered a one-sided staring contest. The Sergeant immediately casts his gaze to the wooden table between the two 141 operators and the Vultures, and Ghost settles his glare in Williams who runs a hand through his short brown hair. Williams chuckles, shaking his head. "It seems we're at a stalemate, Captain." Price hums, lighting a cigar. "So it would seem." Williams fishes in his pockets, pulling out a box of cigarettes.

Ghost looks back at the slave kneeled next to Williams, still shaking. Williams looped a finger around its collar, tugging it closer. The slave shuffles over inch by inch, until it was right next to Williams, the Colonel leaning forward. "Do you even know how to take care of a slave, Captain?" Williams pulls it up slightly, and Ghost watched it quiver in his grasp, eyes fixed on the table with a panicked look swirling in its silver orbs. "Do you know how to control it? How to make it listen? Behave?" Williams pulls it to his front, spinning the slave to face him. "I could make it do anything I wanted. Get me a drink, lay down on the floor, be my foot rest, anything that I so pleased. One word, and it would listen."

Ghost rolls his eyes, glaring at Williams. Price lights his cigar, taking a long drag. "Williams, your points hold no weight. We know what you and your taskforce is like." The evident irritation in his voice doesn't go unnoticed, and Williams lights his cigarette with a snort. "I could say the same about you and your crew," the brunette fires back, taking a long drag from his cigarette. "And what would that be, Colonel?"

Silence.

Williams seems to be in thought for a moment, eyes flickering from a sort of sadistic calm to an almost eerie glee. "Bad men doing bad things for their countries. Isn't that right, Captain?" Price taps his cigar on the ash tray in the middle, a smile of his own pulling on chapped lips. "Isn't that ironic?" It was stated moreso fact than question, Price leaning forward. "That you actually seem to believe that you're on the same level as us."