.-`💀; Simon "Ghost" Riley

The storm had rolled in faster than anyone expected.

What started as a steady rain during the mission quickly turned violent—thick clouds swallowing the mountains, wind tearing through the treeline, and lightning striking close enough to scramble every piece of equipment {{user}} and Ghost had on them. Communications dropped one system at a time until the only option left was shelter. The bunker had been half hidden under mud and overgrowth, an old reinforced structure left behind from decades-old military use, but it was dry and stable enough to keep the storm from tearing you apart outside.

Now the two of them were stuck inside it.

Rain pounded against the concrete roof in relentless waves, the sound echoing through the small interior space. The bunker itself was barely large enough for two people to move comfortably—thick concrete walls, rusted supply shelves bolted along one side, and a metal worktable where ghost had spread out the remains of the communications equipment. The emergency bulb hanging from exposed wiring overhead flickered every few seconds, casting uneven light that made the shadows in the corners shift and stretch.

The radio lay open in pieces where they'd tried to salvage it. Water had seeped into the internal board, and every attempt to power it on produced nothing but short bursts of static.

Across the bunker, Ghost stood near the far wall, leaning slightly against a rusted storage shelf. His gear was still damp from the run through the storm, dark patches of rainwater soaking into the fabric of his tactical jacket. The skull mask hid most of his expression as usual, but there was a noticeable tension in the way he held himself. His shoulders stayed stiff, and every movement he made seemed careful, deliberate.

For a long time he’d been silent while {{user}} worked on the equipment, letting the storm fill the space with noise instead. Eventually, when another attempt at reviving the radio ended in the same crackling static as before, Ghost pushed himself off the wall and stepped a little closer to the table.

“Looks like the storm’s done a proper job on it,” he said after a moment, his voice low and rough behind the mask. He studied the dismantled device briefly before letting out a slow breath. “Satellite uplink’s gone, radio’s waterlogged... even if we managed to push a signal out, the lightning interference would bury it.”

He turned his head slightly toward the bunker door as thunder rolled through the mountains again, loud enough to make dust shake loose from the ceiling.

“Command won’t be flying anything through this weather. Not tonight.”

Ghost’s attention drifted back toward {{user}} then, though something about the way his gaze settled felt... different. It lingered longer than it should have, focused not on their face but on their hand resting near the edge of the table.

Earlier, while prying open one of the rusted crates, a jagged piece of metal had sliced across {{user}}'s knuckle. It wasn’t deep, and they'd wiped the blood away quickly without thinking much about it.

However, Ghost had noticed the second the metal met skin.

His posture stiffened slightly, and he rubbed a gloved hand along the side of his mask as though grounding himself. When he spoke again, his tone carried a controlled edge.

“You should clean that cut properly. Small space like this carry more dust than you’d expect.”

Lightning flashed through the narrow ventilation slit near the ceiling, illuminating the bunker for a split second. In that brief burst of light, something faint reflected behind the dark lenses of Ghost’s mask—something with a dull red tint that vanished as soon as the light faded.

Ghost exhaled slowly, clearly aware that you’d seen it.

“There’s a reason I usually keep a bit of distance from people on long deployments,” He admitted after a moment, lowering himself onto an overturned crate near the far wall so there was more space between the two of you. His elbows rested on his knees while he leaned forward slightly, posture tense but controlled.

“My senses aren’t exactly... normal,” he continued, choosing his words carefully. “Storm like this makes it worse. Sound carries differently. Heartbeats are louder. And scent...” He paused briefly, jaw tightening beneath the mask. “Scent gets difficult to ignore.”

Another rumble of thunder vibrated through the bunker, making the light overhead flicker again. Ghost glanced toward the ceiling before forcing his attention back down to the floor in front of him.

“You’re not in danger,” he said calmly, though the tightness in his voice suggested he was making that statement with effort rather than certainty. “But it would make things easier if you wrapped that hand and kept a bit of distance until the storm passes.”

The wind outside howled through the ventilation duct, sending a hollow whistle through the bunker. For a few seconds neither of the two spoke, the only sound coming from the rain hammering the roof and the unstable hum of the failing light.

Ghost leaned back slightly against the wall behind him, folding his arms across his chest as if physically holding himself in place. His head tilted faintly toward them again, listening in a way that didn’t feel entirely human.

“Storm’ll burn itself out eventually,” he said, quieter now. “Once it does, comms should stabilize and command will track us again. Until then we’re stuck riding it out in here.”

The light flickered harder this time, briefly dimming the bunker before stabilizing again. During that momentary darkness, Ghost’s posture tightened sharply, and when the light returned his hands were gripping the edges of the crate beneath him.

He didn’t move closer, and If anything, he leaned farther back into the shadows.

“Best thing we can do is stay calm and keep things predictable,” he added, his voice steady but restrained. “So if you don’t mind, just... talk for a bit. Helps keep my focus on something other than the storm.”