Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Three

"What the hell are Las Almas doing here?!", one of the units asked over the radio.

With a pained expression and your rifle ready to kill, you chewed on the inside of your cheek for a moment before deciding to act.

"Doesn't matter.", you moved further behind the car. "All units, push the lines. Kill everyone. I'll take a hostage."

"Overwatch speaking, do you think this is a good idea, 100?", he asked. "The authorities wanted a terrorist."

A smirk appeared on your lips.

"Get ready for transport. This one will have to do.", with these words, you jumped out of your cover and started to fire rounds of shots.

Two of the cartel members weren't fast enough to react.

They dropped almost immediately.

Deep, red blood splattered all over the side of the car and the target, Hector.

Struck by surprise, he flinched and stumbled back, but pulled his revolver anyways.

"Shit!", you jumped back, barely dodging the bullet that was about to pierce your eye.

A sharp pain chased through your cheek.

The feeling of blood running over your skin send shivers down your spine.

For the breath of a second, your body stiffened.

But not a moment later a gush of adrenaline made you feel as wide awake as ever.

You turned on your heel, ditched Hector's side of the car and shot a man who tried to come from the back.

His blood splattered all over your face.

It was a warm yet icy cold touch.

With your lips pressed into a thin line, you watched as his head hit the headlight of the car and was buried in sand.

"You fucking rats!", a scratchy male voice screamed in a thick, Spanish accent. "I'll put bullets in you!"

The outline of Hector appeared on the other side of the car.

You pulled your head in, raised the rifle in caution and used the huge metal vehicle to your advantage.

Slowly, you took one step into the opposite direction of wherever he was going.

Your eyes were as sharp as blades. You could see anything hiding in the shadows.

The cloud of sand started to clear.

Now you had free range again.

You could have placed a bullet in the back of his head.

But this was a capture mission, alive and only alive.

Hector twitched.

With strangely irritated eyes, he twirled around and was about to blast your brains out as a shot rang out.

It missed but he reacted to it anyways.

Immediately, you dropped your gun and pulled a knife to go into close combat.

In one swift movement, you sliced his hand and threw yourself against his chest with all your weight.

His fingers let go of the weapon.

With a dull thud, it landed in the sand.

Struck by surprise and screaming in pain, he dropped to the ground and started to resist.

You cut him again, his other arm this time, to make sure that the pain paralysed him long enough for you to take safety precautions.

Blood mixed with blue sand and made it sticky.

"No se mueve!", you screamed and pointed the sharp tip of your knife right at his throat. "Somos una unidad especial. Queda arrestado."

In the distance, friendly units approached.

The fight had come to an end.

Now all that could be heard were English soldiers who were trying to even out the winkles of battle.

Hector froze.

His eyes jumped over your face.

But there was little to remember since it was mostly covered by fabric and equipment.

Only as your gazes locked, he froze and frowned in confusion.

"You...", he gasped in his hoarse, smoky voice. "I've seen those eyes. This expression. You're Soap."

A huff escaped you.

"Close.", you said and smirked. "Very fucking close."

Two of your men joined your side, sharp weapons pointed at Hector.

In that moment, an insane amount of pressure fell off your shoulders.

You dared to relax and took a deep breath in.

"Take over, boys.", you ordered the men and got up to release Hector from your threats.

"Roger that, 100.", the two grabbed him by the arms, turned him around and put handcuffs on his hands.

He was drenched in blood already.

But so were you.

With a curse, you distanced yourself from the scene.

Your eyes wandered over the battlefield.

Deep dark spots danced through the desert.

Bodies everywhere.

The smell of iron and rain was in the air.

It was familiar and yet you couldn't get used to it.

"Good job, as always, 100.", a man approached.

Confused, you eyed him from top to bottom while trying to wipe away the blood on your face with the back of your hand.

"And you are?", you asked.

"Overwatch.", the man offered his hand in greeting.
You shook it.

"How did Watcher go down?"

"Bullet in the neck. The medics are trying to take care of him. Doesn't look good."

You let out a hissing sound.

"Of course.", you snarled. "Bloody Jesus, he was a fuckin' good lad."

"Sorry to say that."

"Nah. Don't apologise for things you're not at fault for, son. Drags the spirit down.", with a sigh, you closed your eyes and let your head fall back to take in the cold nights air. "So what went wrong? Why cartel and no terrorists?"

He shook his head.

"We don't know. Authorities..."

He was cut off by a ringing phone.

Confused, you opened your eyes.

It was yours.

Strangely enough, it was the one that was used via secured lines.

Someone important was calling.

"Excuse me.", with a nod of your head, you excused yourself and walked away to fish the phone from your pockets. "100 is listening."

For a moment, the other end of the line remained silent.

You frowned.

Your mouth was already open to say something as a woman answered.

"Congrats on a job well done, 100.", she said.

Your eyebrows rose in surprise while the hint of a smile conquered your face.

"Laswell!", you chuckled. "Long time no hear."

"Too long.", she replied. "We should catch up."

"In person?"

"Yes. A bird is on the way."

You looked up to the sky.

"Where do you take me?", you asked.

"Mexico."