Trauma Since a Child - Ghost x reader

1

The only sound I could hear was the sound of my breath under the straw bag over my head. The sound of distant gun shots. Muffled engines outside. Footsteps and yelling echoing through the house.

I hoped to god someone would open the door. Find the door.

The guns stopped. The sound of footsteps became louder as they trenched up the hall. “Sergeant, you clear?” I thick, scorchy British accent called out. “I’m upstairs. Seems to be all clear here, im heading back down”

Not clear. Not clear at all. I was surrounded by at least 5 men all armed with guns, silently waiting for the man on the other side of the wall to hopefully, not find the secret door.

But I wasn’t going to stand for it.

I had been working on removing the duct tape from my mouth. I knew all the tricks on removing it. and just as the footsteps seemed to be descending the stairs, my mouth was free.

“In here!” I yelled out. “help me please-“Before I could yell anything else out, my mouth was being held shut by one of the armed men.

But they were too late. I could feel the uneasiness of the men surrounding me. they were scared shitless. Whoever was out there must have been powerful. Ghost. I myself had never heard of them before.

We heard slow, thick steps make their way to the wall. Then nothing but the sound of the mans breath on the other side and their hand running along the concrete wall. The sound stopped and for a few seconds, it was dead silent. No one was breathing. No one was moving. no one was blinking.

Light beamed through the straw bag. Gunshots rained down. Yells and screams blasted through my ears.

The man holding me was shot dead. This allowed me to lean forward and get as close to the ground as possible. There was some grunting and hand-to-hand combat before a final shot rang through the air.

“Ghost?” another set of steps made it’s way up the stairs. “christ” a Scottish accent.

I sat up slowly putting up my bound hands. “dont shoot. Don’t shoot” I said quickly. My voice much more rough and broken then I hoped it would be.

“Fuck” the Scottish man mumbled. Both men stepped closer towards me. One ripping off the bag from my head.

I squinted at the light of their torches, using my hands to shade my eyes.

“The fuck?” the British man mumbled. I looked up to the 2 tall men seeing their faces.

Well one face. A man with short hair, a mohawk. A blue shirt, built arms bare. Bullet proof vest equipped with packs of ammo and guns.

The other hidden behind a skull mask. Nothing but his deep blue eyes showing. The skin around them covered in a dark makeup. He wore black all over. Bullet proof vest and ammo and guns slung over his body.

“What’s your name?” the Scottish man, the faced man, asked, giving the masked man an annoyed look, as though he was disappointed in how he had spoke to me.

“Why the fuck would I tell you?” I asked, remembering my training, trying to stand.

I watched as the Scottish man threw his hands up, turning away to look around the room and leaving me with the masked man.

He wouldn’t stop looking at me. As though there was something on my face. It was the perfect distraction. He was not expecting anything from me, too busy looking at me to be alarmed enough to think I would do something like steel a gun.

“Laswell, come in…do you copy” The Scottish man asked, talking into a communication device.

“Soap, I copy…whats your status?” a female voice called out. The man - Soap - turned around to face me. “Soap, was he there?” the woman asked.