The Crow & The Ghost: A Dystopian AU Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Chapter One: A Crow Flies Alone

        You wanted it to bother you more — the killing. You had hoped, when you had first joined the Defense, that it would make your stomach turn to take someone's life. You had hoped it would keep you up at night, that you would return home and your parents would look you in the eyes and know that you weren't the same person you were the day before, but in a way where they ached for you, pitied you. You had hoped that the Defense would be a miserable existence, so that you could serve your mandatory year and then be out.
        You had hoped to own a bookshop, once. Or go back to school. Something plain and simple.
        You had hoped to be anything other than what you are.
        Now it was year four, and your third voluntary year. You can't remember how many lives you've taken. You can't remember the last time murder had made you sick. You can't remember your last sleepless night.
        You can't remember the last time your parents looked you in the eye, and you surely can't remember the last time they pitied you.
        That part hurts, but you don't live with them anymore. It doesn't hurt as much as it once did. After the hefty stipend for entering into voluntary service, you finally had enough money to move out. You knew your parents were relieved, if for no other reason than they could finally stop mopping up the blood your boots trekked into the house, stop tiptoeing by your room in hopes that you wouldn't call out for their attention.
        "Years ago they used to have barracks for soldiers," Your mother muttered one day, soon after the start of your mandatory service year, hissing at your white undershirt that was splattered maroon with dried blood. "They didn't just send kids home after every shift, like they're working at a damn summer camp."
        "Years ago," Your father said under his breath, "they didn't fight wars within our own city limits."
        They always thought you couldn't hear them, when they passed judgment like that. They didn't know how keen you had become to hearing what didn't want to be heard.
        But that skill had given you half of your kill list. Perhaps it was better that they didn't know.
        You are a Lieutenant now, one of the youngest at your twenty-five years. You had worked hard for this, kept your head down, killed who needed to be killed, and done what you could to keep the Defense's morale up and running.
        Your parents barely know you anymore, but at least you can make other people laugh in the wake of your dead bodies.
        Were they even really dead bodies, if they had already been dead for some time? It was a question you thought about more than you wanted to.
        "Lieutenant Crow." A voice from behind you snaps you out of your reverie, your cloth-clad hand stilling over your firearm. You're in your office, a small space with only one tiny window near the ceiling. You hate it in here, and you hate the fluorescent lights more, so you sit in near darkness despite it being eight o'clock in the morning.
        You turn your head to the side, your right ear facing the person who spoke your name. You keep your eyes down, unfocused. "Yes, Private Bosh?"
        Dana Bosh is a newer solider, only twenty-one years old. She is within her year of mandatory service. You hesitate to be very friendly with the mandatories, as it is more than likely they will exit the Defense after their year is up. You don't expect Bosh to be any different. She's thin and tall, her hair blonde and always pin straight. She always wears a swish of black eyeliner on each lid. You noticed early on that she reapplies her eyeliner everyday after lunch, the swishes always darker after noontime. She never misses it. She doesn't possess any desire to engage in combat, though you aren't sure, even after all this time, you could entirely blame her.
        "Captain MacTavish would like a word with you, in the Atrium."
        You suppress a sigh, your hand resuming its thorough polish of your gun. You need your hands busy to even be able to continue this conversation. "Did he say what for, Bosh?"
        The Private is quiet for a moment, and you let her have the silence. Not many higher ups in the Defense possessed any sort of patience, and you notice it makes people nervous. It makes people make mistakes. Pressure doesn't work for everybody, and it surely doesn't work for Dana Bosh.
        At one of the excursions last week, you had instructed Dana to cover yourself and Kieran while you focused on some random task that you couldn't even remember now. You had figured she could handle not being hand-held. An Undead had ambled up the alley, shouting obscenities, clearly drunk, and all Dana could do was scream as the damned thing started at a full sprint towards them, laughing all the way. It took quick thinking by Kieran to shoot him dead, but you had felt the Undead's spit land on your cheek as he let out a shout when he died. You and Kieran had your weapons sheathed, your guns strapped across your backs. Dana had been the only one with a warm weapon in her hands, and yet she hadn't been the one to shoot.
        "You forget that they think like us!" Kieran had yelled at her, waving his gun over the still-cooling corpse. "You forget that they were people once, too! They aren't like the fucking movies! They have brains, damn you!"
        Dana had cried silently the entire walk back to Headquarters, and you held the empathy while Kieran held the rage. Usually it was the other way around, but sometimes you had to let your friend have his moments. It was what made you good together.
        "He didn't say, Lieutenant." Bosh finally says.
Lie. Fucking lie, and you know it. Why else did she hesitate?
        "Does it have to do with the other one as well, Private?"
        "The... other one, Lieutenant?" You roll your eyes, knowing she can't see you. You pity the girl until she starts acting stupid, and then suddenly you can't find a single redeeming quality about her.
        "Does it have to do with Lieutenant Riley?" You grind out the name, as if it physically pains you. Sometimes, it does.
        You hear slight intake of breath. God dammit, not her too.
        "Lieutenant, it was Captain MacTavish who asked, Lieutenant Riley wouldn't speak to someone like me—"
        "Oh, for fucks sake, Dana," You stand up suddenly, slinging your firearm over your back in one fluid movement. The Private shuffles backward in surprise, and you almost laugh at how wide her eyes are. You take a step towards her, lowering your brow so that your own eyes narrowed to slits. "Don't make it so fucking obvious."
        You leave the girl in your office, letting her have silence once again.