Chalice of Revenge (Ghost X Ruby Laswell)

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I wake up to my head vibrating.

"The hell," I groan as I slip my head out from under the bag, pulling out my burner. I look around seeing everything was dark and everyone must be out like a light considering we were in the clear.

I flip it open, putting it to my ear. "Who is this." I demand, standing up.

"It's Graves."

"God, Graves- it's..." I look at the watch on my wrist seeing it read 3:30 a.m. "it's fucking early- late. That's what it is. This better be crucial."

"It is for me." The phone ended in static, and my chest tightens.

"I don't know what to tell you, Philip. We are nothing." I hiss. I look around, sighing as I leave to go outside into the night. I find a crate to crouch behind just in case for cover.

"You didn't say that a year ago," Graves continues.

"Because I was grieving, you asshole!" I hiss again but louder. "I was a temporary raging alcoholic and you were a part of the coping addiction."

"Careful with that type of language, Laswell I can throw you off 141 with the snap of my fingers as quick as I got you on."

"Do it, I dare you. You and your men will drown without me." I found myself digging my nails into my palms, feeling a wand liquid gushing from them.

"Goodnight, Laswell." Graves says vindictively.

Within moments, the phone clicks and I'm introduced to silence. I look up at the pitch black sky, watching the countless stars gleam behind the clouds. I grit my teeth. Good solider, horrible human. I throw the phone with force to the right of me onto concrete, burying my head into my hands.

"Laswell." A familiar voice sounds.

I look to my right seeing Ghost come around the corner with his arm branched on his gun holster.

"Just me." I lean back, looking down at my hand which was now creating a small trail of dark red.

"Hell happened?" He says as he approaches me.

"Nothing, Ghost. You can go to bed, I'll be up." I wave him off, and he doesn't go anywhere. "Did you hear me? I said go," I wave again. He doesn't go anywhere.

"Get that cleaned up, Red." A package of cotton rolls land in my lap, and I look up to see him gone.

"Red? Who gave you the jurisdiction to call me that?" I slightly joke. I felt my nerves start to ease, and his body tenses up.

"Simon Riley. That's who." He says short.

"Who is.. is that.. your actual name?" I feel a lump form in my throat. The Simon Riley; why didn't I think of it? Faceless, nameless, mysterious, brooding. He was known on the team to be one of the best there is- but he was hard to emotionally reach.

I watch as he walks away, his head down and his walk slow but swift.

I bite my cheek as I pick up the package, opening it and grabbing out the wrap to begin wrapping it around my hand. This frustration was never new- it was always a problem. I always knew how to self inflict pain on myself in any way I knew how to. It was self destructive- it caused scars. Even if it wasn't me directly harming my own skin, I somehow ended up with the deepest ones from others.

I finish wrapping my crescent wounds, tossing the bandages off to the side. I look out into the distance, seeing Ghost sit as he looks up. How could someone be so.. crude and miserable yet mysterious enough to investigate?