#belinski cod

The helicopter blades were already spinning when they stepped out onto the tarmac. Loud and violent. Wind tore at them, whipping fabric against skin, carrying the sharp, suffocating scent of fuel and heated metal, strong enough to cut through even Judas’s heightened senses. It burned at the back of his throat. And beside it, a older man Judas didn’t recognize. Relaxed posture. Easy.

Like chaos was something he wore instead of survived. “Ah!” the man called over the roar, grin wide. “You must be the famous one, hm?” Judas stared at him for half a second. Measuring. “Who’s this?” Soap barked out a laugh immediately. “Aye, that’s our ride, mate!” Price didn’t slow. “Nikolai. He’ll get us there.”

Nikolai dipped his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I fly. You try not to die. Yes?” Judas blinked once. “Great.” They boarded fast. Strapped in. The helicopter lifted within seconds, the ground dropping away as London stretched beneath them, gray, sprawling, restless. Inside, it was loud, but controlled. Soap leaned forward, already grinning. “Alright, lads, let’s go find ourselves a ghost, aye?”

Gaz rolled his eyes, smiling faintly. Judas didn’t smile. He watched. Listened. And Felt. Because something about this, Felt wrong. “Two minutes!” Nikolai called. Price stood. “Positions!” They moved. The second the helicopter dipped low enough, they jumped. Concrete slammed into Judas’s boots, impact snapping through his body.

Cold air hit hard, wet, heavy with the scent of salt and rust. Wapping. “Spread out,” Price ordered. “Stay sharp.” They moved through shadows, weaving between crates and rusted structures that groaned under age and neglect. Everything felt watched. Everything felt, Wrong. Judas slowed.

“…He’s here.” A shift. A flicker, then a sudden movement. A figure dropped from above and suddenly Soap was down, hitting concrete with a curse ripped from his throat. “Bloody hell!” Gunfire cracked, echoing through the docks. But there was nothing to hit. “Contact!” Gaz shouted. “Negative visual!” Price snapped. Judas didn’t follow the chaos. He stilled.

Closed his eyes, and felt. The shadows bent. Pulled, then he moved. Faster than human, then they collided. Hard. Not controlled, and definitely not clean. It was biolent. Judas drove him into a metal wall with bone-shaking force, the impact ringing out like a gunshot. Metal dented under the hit. Up close, there he was. Tall. Broad.

Clothes soaked through with rain. And those eyes, cold. Sharp and Tired. Judas didn’t hesitate. He moved again, forcing him down, pinning him hard, legs locking tight around his hips, weight centered, hands gripping, controlling. For a second, there was a stillness. Heavy and charged. “You’re hard to find,” Judas muttered. The man didn’t thrash.

Didn’t panic. He just looked at him. And that, was wrong. Why isn’t he fighting, “I do not want to be found.” Low. Controlled. Steady. Judas’s grip tightened instinctively. “You are getting in my way,” Ghost continued, voice calm despite the position, despite the weight pressing him down, “and I’m not gonna have that any further.”

Something in Judas’s chest shifted. That voice, why, “You shouldn’t have tried.” Judas’s lip curled slightly, and then he bit him. Fangs sinking into flesh. A soft grunt left Ghost, barely there, more breath than pain, and then, Judas was gone. Flung. Not pushed. Thrown.

His body slammed into a brick wall hard enough to crack it, dust and fragments breaking loose on impact. The force snapped through him, but he was already moving before it settled. Back on his feet. Back in it. He lunged. They crashed together again, fists, elbows, bone meeting bone.

Judas struck first, fast and brutal, one, two, three hits driving into ribs, into shoulder, into jaw, Ghost didn’t fall. He absorbed. Shifted. Countered. A sharp hit to Judas’s side knocked the breath from him, another caught his shoulder, twisting him, Judas snarled, grabbing, slamming him back again, Pinning.

Driving him down. Punch after Punch, after Punch, “Stay, down!” But Ghost moved with him. Not against. With. And suddenly, Judas wasn’t on top anymore. The world flipped. Concrete hit his back hard enough to rattle his skull, And then, Hands. Around his throat. Tight. Unforgiving. Squeezing.

Judas’s eyes widened, fingers snapping up, clawing at Ghost’s wrists, trying to break the hold. It didn’t budge. Didn’t move. Ghost leaned over him, weight solid, knees pinning his arms just enough to limit leverage, grip tightening, Crushing. The pressure built fast. Too fast. Air cut off. Vision tightening. Why can’t I, Judas bared his teeth, biting down hard into Ghost’s hand, Blood.

A reaction of nothing. That grip only tightened. Unrelenting. Cold eyes locked onto his. Watching. Not rushed. Not panicked. Like he knew exactly how far he could push this before it ended. Judas’s chest burned. His lungs screamed. Something in his mind fractured, Why isn’t he stopping, Why is he looking at me like that, Something snapped.

Judas forced himself to meet his gaze, and his eyes went black. Pitch. Veins darkened, blood spilling from his eyes, his nose, his ears. A violent, unnatural surge. Ghost’s expression didn’t change, but his body moved, and suddenly he was thrown. Ripped away like something had detonated between them, his body slamming across the concrete.

The pressure vanished. Judas collapsed forward onto his hands and knees, choking, gasping, dragging air into lungs that refused to cooperate. Blood hit the ground in thick drops, dripping from his face, his ears, his nose, his throat burned. His body shook. He coughed, hard, more blood spilling from his mouth as he tried to breathe, tried to steady.

Behind him, nothing. No footsteps. No presence. Gone. Again. Judas stayed there for a second too long, breathing ragged, hands trembling slightly against the concrete. “…Shit.” “Where is he?!” Soap shouted. Judas didn’t answer immediately. Because his mind, Wasn’t on the team. Wasn’t on the mission. It was stuck on, that moment.

The weight of him. The way he’d been pinned. The way those hands had wrapped around his throat. Controlled. Precise. Unyielding. Judas swallowed hard, throat protesting. “…He’s not here anymore.” Price’s jaw tightened. “He was.” Judas pushed himself up slowly. “Yeah.” A pause. Quieter, “…He let me catch him.”

And worse, he let me think I had control. The helicopter was loud. But Judas barely heard it. Because all he could feel, was Ghost’s hands around his throat. All he could see, those eyes. And all he could hear, “I do not want to be found…” Judas’s fingers twitched against his thigh. “…You shouldn’t have tried.” That voice. That exact tone, something in that moment clicked. That call.

Half-asleep. Rough. British. “…Future Husband.” Judas went still. Simon Riley. Ghost. The same. His heart kicked hard against his ribs, uneven, wrong. His fangs ached. Not hunger. Something else. Something sharper. Something that made his chest feel too tight. Too aware. “…You’ve got to be kidding me,” he breathed. “Aye?” Soap leaned forward. “Ye say somethin’, mate?” Judas didn’t answer.

Because his mind was still there, pinned. Held. Watched. Not as prey. Not as a target. But as something, Interesting. Judas leaned back slowly, staring out into the dark. His throat still burned. His pulse still wasn’t steady. And his body, still remembered exactly what it felt like to be under him. And to be under him. “…You slipped,” he murmured. But it didn’t feel like a win. It felt like, awarning.

And now? Now it wasn’t just a mission. Now, It was personal. The helicopter touched down. The mission was over. But whatever that had been? That wasn’t. Judas stood slowly, boots hitting the metal floor with a dull thud. His body had already recovered. His breathing was steady. His strength back where it should be. But something deeper, something quieter, had shifted.