The Ghost of Task Force 141 [Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader]

Breaking Point

Ghost practically sprinted to the Jeep, slamming the door behind him once he was in the driver's seat. He turned the key in the ignition, as the car roared to life. 

He tore out of the parking lot, getting Laswell on the comms. 

"Location," he growled into his mic. 

Laswell conceded as her voice crackled over his earpiece. "Southwest of your current location. Take the main road out of the town and keep heading that way. There's a ridgeline near the Mafia's base location. You should be able to camp out there until it gets dark." Wait there until dark? 

Ghost replied, "Roger," before switching off his comms. 

He wasn't going to wait. 

His brows remained furrowed as pure rage kept out the events that had transpired only almost an hour ago. Ghost was running on adrenaline and venom. 

His hands gripped the steering wheel, causing his flesh to press down, as his bones grinded together. His gloves cascaded over his hands, hiding old scars and memories. The knuckles under his skin poked up, as his fingertips were white from the pressure.

He was going to slaughter every last one of them. And enjoy it. 

A flash of white rage flew through Ghost as he remembered how your face had looked in that moment. His mouth pressed into a thin line as his face muscles twisted, a scowl grew under that mask of his. 

He pressed harder on the gas pedal. 

It didn't take long for him to arrive at the location, easily spotting the ridgeline that Laswell had mentioned. 

He turned the Jeep off, leaving the keys in the center console as he opened the door, quietly shutting the door behind him. 

The sky was starting to turn a flurry of colors as the sun was preparing to set. 

He could see his enemies. And they could see him. 

He wanted them to. He wanted to watch their faces contort as he sliced their necks. Picking off their colleagues, one by one. The fear in their eyes and motions. He wanted them to suffer. 

He, at this point, could hardly care what happened to him.

He peeked over the ridge, glazing his eyes over the compound. It was sizable. Nothing he couldn't handle. 

Straight to the point, he walked over and retrieved his SMG from the backseat of the Jeep. Immediately, he walked back over to the edge, a few small rocks breaking through and tumbling down. 

He didn't hesitate to slide down, as it wasn't completely vertical, tucking his gun to his chest, before summersaulting as he reached the bottom, taking the brunt of the roll on his left shoulder. He flipped over, landing in a squatting position as he gazed around his surroundings, checking for any patrols. 

His side hissed in protest, still bleeding from the explosion. He could care less. 

Once it was all clear, he advanced, pushing up to the outer wall of the compound. He tucked himself into a few bushes, resting right up against it, moving his way through, towards what he assumed to be the main gate. 

Two guards were posted there, each armed and clad with military gear. They stood tall, but not taller than Ghost.

He crawled towards it, as his thighs burned. His shoulders poised with his finger above the trigger at all times. 

He let go of his SMG with his left hand as he retrieved a knife from one of his pouches. He aimed briefly, before hurling it at the furthest guard, before immediately reloading and throwing another at the one next to him, before the other could even react. Their bodies fell to the ground with a thump. The knives fell right between their eyes.