Wraith | Ghost

7. The Hunt Begins

The passage of time was impossible to gauge in the darkness of the cell where I was being held. The room had no windows, no clock, and no sounds from the outside world to give me any sense of day or night. The air was thick and stale, and the constant darkness gnawed at my mind, threatening to unravel my resolve. But I held on, clinging to the thought that my team—Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and Price—wouldn't stop until they found me. They had to.

Each day blurred into the next, my only interactions with the outside world coming in the form of brief, tense encounters with the guards who brought me sparse meals. They never spoke, just shoved the food in and left me in silence, the heavy door clanging shut behind them. There was no way to know if Makarov was close, watching, or if he had moved on to other matters, leaving me to rot in this place.

I spent the endless hours going over everything Makarov had said to me during our first meeting, trying to piece together what he could possibly want. He'd hinted at something I possessed—some key, some asset he believed I had. But none of it made sense. I had been trained to focus on the mission, to keep my mind clear, but the isolation was starting to get to me. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was missing something crucial, something that tied this whole twisted game together.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. I squinted against the sudden flood of light, my eyes struggling to adjust after days in the dark. Two guards stepped inside, their faces hidden behind masks, and one of them barked an order in a language I didn't recognize.

"Get up," the second guard demanded in heavily accented English, gesturing with his rifle.

I rose slowly, my body stiff and sore from the confinement, but I made sure to move with deliberate defiance. They wouldn't see me weakened or broken. The guards grabbed my arms and marched me out of the cell and down a dimly lit corridor. The harsh fluorescent lights above flickered, casting eerie shadows on the grimy walls. The building was old, cold, and smelled of mildew and decay.

We moved in silence through the winding halls until we reached a large metal door. One of the guards knocked, and a few seconds later, the door creaked open to reveal a spacious room that stood in stark contrast to the dingy corridors. It was well-lit, with polished floors and a large wooden desk at the far end. Behind it, leaning casually against the edge, was Makarov.

His presence filled the room like a dark cloud, oppressive and unsettling. He didn't look up immediately, as if toying with me by making me wait. The guards shoved me forward, and I stumbled slightly before regaining my balance, my eyes locked on Makarov. I refused to let him intimidate me.

"Leave us," Makarov ordered the guards, his voice calm but carrying an edge of authority.

The guards obeyed without question, closing the door behind them with a heavy thud. Now it was just the two of us.

Makarov finally looked up, his eyes gleaming with a cold intensity. "Wraith," he said, his voice smooth, almost mocking. "I've been waiting for this moment."

I stayed silent, refusing to give him anything.

He pushed off the desk and took a few steps toward me, his gaze sharp and penetrating. "I'm sure you're wondering why you're here. Why you're still alive."

I didn't respond, keeping my expression as neutral as possible. I knew he wanted a reaction, and I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

He circled me slowly, his presence suffocating. "You're part of an elite unit—Task Force 141. I want to know everything about them. Their operations, their tactics, their weaknesses."

I clenched my fists, my heart pounding. I'd expected interrogation, but hearing him ask for information on my team made my blood run cold. "I'm not telling you anything."

Makarov smiled, a twisted grin that made my skin crawl. "I figured you might say that. But let's not play games. You know how this works. Everyone has a breaking point."

"Not me," I shot back, meeting his gaze with defiance.

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "We'll see about that. But I'm not here to waste time. I'll make it simple—you tell me what I want to know, and this can all end quickly. You refuse, and things get... unpleasant."

I forced myself to stay calm, to keep my voice steady. "You're wasting your time."

Makarov didn't seem phased by my resistance. Instead, he moved back to his desk, sifting through a pile of papers. His movements were deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine as he spoke. "You can be stubborn if you like. But I will get what I need, one way or another."

As he spoke, one of the papers slipped from the pile and fluttered to the floor. My eyes darted to it, catching sight of what appeared to be a series of numbers—a string of coordinates. Makarov didn't seem to notice as he continued speaking, his voice a low, menacing hum in the background.

I forced myself to look away, to pretend I hadn't seen the paper, but my mind was already racing. If those were coordinates—and I was almost certain they were—they could lead to something crucial. A hideout, a supply depot, something that Makarov was trying to keep hidden. And now, I had it committed to memory.

Makarov glanced down, finally noticing the fallen paper. He picked it up with a casual flick of his wrist, not realizing what he had just let slip.

"You're smarter than most," he said, folding the paper and tucking it away. "But that won't save you. Sooner or later, you'll give me what I want."

"I've already told you," I said, keeping my voice steady. "You're not getting anything from me."

Makarov smiled, a dark, unsettling smile that didn't reach his eyes. "We'll see."

He nodded to the guards, who re-entered the room and grabbed my arms. As they began to drag me out, I kept my eyes forward, my face blank, but inside, I was already planning. The coordinates were seared into my memory, a small piece of the puzzle that could help me turn the tables on Makarov.

The door to my cell slammed shut behind me, plunging me back into darkness. But this time, I wasn't just sitting in the dark—I had information, a way to fight back. If I could escape, if I could get this intel to my team, we might have a chance to stop Makarov before he could carry out whatever twisted plan he was working on.

Now all I had to do was survive long enough to make it happen.

Meanwhile, miles away...

Ghost stood in the dimly lit operations room, his eyes fixed on the satellite feed that flickered on the screen. The team had been scouring every lead, chasing down every whisper that could bring them closer to finding Wraith, but so far, nothing had panned out. Time was slipping away, and with it, the hope of finding her alive.

Soap and Gaz were at his side, their expressions grim. Price was on the comms with HQ, demanding more resources, more intel—anything that could give them an edge.

"There's got to be something we're missing," Soap muttered, frustration evident in his voice. "Some clue, some trace..."

"We've been over every inch of the intel," Gaz replied, his tone equally tense. "Makarov's good at covering his tracks, but he's not invincible. We'll find her."

Ghost didn't say anything, his mind already racing through possibilities. He'd seen the way Makarov operated—meticulous, ruthless, and always one step ahead. But he knew Wraith, too. She was resilient, resourceful, and if there was a way out, she'd find it.

Price ended the call and turned to the team, his expression hard. "HQ's authorizing a full-scale search. We're bringing in everything we've got."

"We'll find her," Ghost finally spoke, his voice low and determined. "And when we do, Makarov's done."

The team nodded, their resolve strengthening. They knew what was at stake, and they wouldn't rest until Wraith was back where she belonged.

Because in Task Force 141, you didn't leave anyone behind. And Ghost wasn't about to start now.