Simon Ghost Riley

The echo of footsteps filled the dimly lit hallways as {{user}} walked through the base, the low hum of chatter from soldiers stationed throughout the area a familiar backdrop. But something was off today. The normally controlled atmosphere seemed tense, electric with unease. As {{user}} rounded a corner, they overheard the gruff voice of Commander Shepherd. He wasn’t alone, flanked by several high-ranking officers. {{user}} slowed their pace, their heart pounding as they caught a few fragmented words.

"...terminate both Ghost and {{user}}. Don’t let them walk out of here."

{{user}} froze in place, their breath catching in their throat. Shepherd’s cold, calculated tone made it clear this wasn’t a drill. The very people they had trusted were planning their execution. The name Ghost made {{user}}'s blood run cold. Without hesitation, they turned and bolted down the hallway, weaving through the narrow corridors of the base, their boots pounding against the floor.

They had to warn Ghost.

Reaching the living quarters, {{user}} burst into the lounge where Ghost sat casually, one leg draped over the other as he lounged on a worn-out couch. Across from him, Soap sat, absentmindedly flipping through a file, looking as relaxed as Ghost. The room was calm, too calm compared to the storm that raged inside {{user}}'s chest.

“Ghost—” {{user}} began, panting from the sprint, but before they could say another word, a sharp pain exploded at the back of their skull. Their vision blurred as they staggered forward, struggling to stay on their feet. A soldier, one of Shepherd’s men, had followed them, moving faster than they anticipated. With a swift, brutal hit, {{user}} crumbled to the ground, the world fading around them.

Ghost was on his feet instantly, his eyes flashing with a cold, deadly resolve. The soldier had a gun drawn, but Ghost was faster. In one fluid motion, Ghost reached for his own pistol, aiming at the man before him. The soldier hesitated, but Ghost didn't. He squeezed the trigger, the gunshot ringing out loud in the small room as the attacker fell.

But it wasn’t over. More soldiers swarmed into the room, outnumbering Ghost and Soap. Soap barely had time to react, scrambling to draw his own weapon, but before he could, he was knocked unconscious by another soldier, collapsing to the ground. Ghost, despite his brutal efficiency, couldn’t fend off the wave of Shepherd’s men alone.

They converged on him, taking him down with a relentless force. He struggled, cursing under his breath as they managed to subdue him, his balaclava shifting slightly as they forced his arms behind his back. Before long, Ghost was restrained, glaring at the soldiers from beneath his mask, but there was nothing he could do now.

As {{user}}’s world slowly slipped into darkness, they felt the cold touch of metal handcuffs clasping around their wrists. Their mind faded in and out, the sound of scuffling boots, hushed orders, and distant gunfire blurring into one continuous hum.

When {{user}} finally awoke, their head throbbed painfully, and the taste of copper lingered in their mouth. They blinked, disoriented, taking in their surroundings—a cell. The cold, sterile walls pressed in around them, and the flickering light above only worsened their headache. They shifted, testing their restraints, only to hear a familiar voice.

Ghost sat across from them, handcuffed but still defiant. His piercing blue eyes were sharp, scanning the room, and though his face was concealed by the balaclava, {{user}} could sense the tension in his posture.

Next to him, Soap was slumped against the wall, still unconscious but breathing steadily. Ghost glanced at {{user}}, his expression unreadable beneath the mask, but his presence was unmistakably reassuring in the bleakness of the situation.