Survivor | S. Ghost Riley

Out of the frying pan

A bell dinged softly as I opened up the door of the small establishment. The warm atmosphere was inviting and a stark contrast to the cold outside. It had taken me a moment to get used to the temperature of Britain again after unexpectedly spending some time in Mexico, especially around this time of year, when the leaves started to turn brown and the cold air nipped at your skin.

"Fancy meeting you here." A deep English voice greeted me from my left. I turned my head with a soft smile as I locked eyes on Simon Riley. He was dressed in a more casual manner aside from the skull mask and painted eyes.

"I could say the same. Are the others here yet?" I asked him with a friendly tone of voice

"Not yet, they'll be here soon though. We could go get a seat, though." Simon said with a small shrug.

"Yeah, sounds good." I said with a smile. The two of us then walked across the wooden floor of the small pub and took a seat at the bar. I placed my bag at my feet as the bartender walked over to the two of us.

"What can I get you?" The man asked

"Whisky." Simon said briefly

"I'll have the same." I said, shooting the bartender a small smile as he grabbed two glasses and poured the liquid into them.
Simon took a hold of his glass but he didn't move to drink it.

"How are you going to drink that? And please don't tell me you're going to drink it through the mask." I asked him jokingly

"I'll lift it up. Though if I drank through the mask it wouldn't be the first time." Simon said. I wrinkled my nose up at his comment, imagining how bad that would smell. He then raised the glass up to his face and gently raised the edge of his mask, exposing the bottom half of his face. I couldn't help but stare as I watched him take a swig of the alcohol before he pulled the mask back down again.

"So, how does it feel to officially be a part of the 141?" Simon asked casually

"Good. It's different from what I'm used to, but not in a bad way." I said as I took a sip of my own drink

Before either of us could say anything else, there was a solid force on my back. I flinched at the unexpected pressure and spun around in my seat, my heart beating faster as adrenaline coursed through me. I don't know what I was expecting, but a clearly intoxicated man was not it. He stumbled on his feet again and grabbed onto my shoulder.

"Hey there, sweetheart." The man slurred. Before he could do anything else, or I could push him away, a large hand grabbed onto the man's forearm and shoved him with a lot of force. So much force that the man stumbled on his feet and fell backwards onto the sticky wooden floor. The man groaned as Simon Ghost Riley stood over him in all his menacing glory.

He then slowly rose to his feet so he was eye to chest with Simon. "What's your problem man?" The guy asked, clearly too drunk to notice the obvious threat.

"You. Touch her again and I'll break your hand." Simon growled lowly. The man raised his hands in surrender, slowly backing away from Simon.

"All right, sorry mate. Didn't know." The man stumbled back and pushed open the door of the pub, slowly stumbling his way outside.

Simon sighed heavily and sat back down again. His eyes fell on me and they softened ever so slightly. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thank you." I said with a small smile.

"S'all right." Simon said quietly with a shrug. Before I could say anything else, the door burst open again followed by the lively chatter of Johnny, Gaz, Laswell and Price.

"Hey! Luna, Ghost! You're here already." Johnny said as he wandered in and took a seat beside me at the bar.

"Yeah, you're late." I said with a teasing smile

"No, you're early." Johnny agrued as Gaz, Price and Laswell sat on his other side. The bartender was quick to hand them glasses of their own choice of drinks.

My attention was suddenly drawn to the tv that was positioned above the bar. The news was currently the channel that was on, and they were talking about the black out that had happened in Chicago last night.

"Officials are saying a power surge is to blame for an explosion over downtown Chicago last night due to severe winds leaving thousands of residents in the dark. Electricity is expected to be restored by this evening." The news reporter said. It was honestly strange to know the real reason behind it, and to know that I was a part of it.

"CIA shit..." Price said

"Hmm...creative writing." Laswell countered

"I'll never tell." Price said

"AQ...Iran..." Laswell said

"Cartels...Russians..." price added

"Shepherds...Shadows...they got past us." Laswell said

"Well, they had a head start. To cutting heads off snakes." Price stated as he raised his glass towards Laswell. The two of them tapped their glasses together and took a sip of the alcohol.

"Bet you 5 pounds that they have dated or are dating." Johnny whispered in my ear with a small laugh, causing me to laugh quietly along with him.

"Absolutely." I replied quietly

"Any sign of Shepherd?" Price asked

"Totally off the grid." Laswell replied

"Well, we'll find him." Price stated

"No, we've got bigger fish...I've done some digging on the Russians." Laswell said

"Well, that's a dirty job." Price said

"Ultra-nationalists ambushed that convoy, John." Laswell said

"Kate, this is over." Price stated

"No, it's not. They're working with someone new." Laswell argued

"Who?" Price asked. Laswell pulled out a rectangular piece of paper and slid it over to Price. He picked it up and turned it over to view the picture that was printed on the other side.

"We don't know his name." Laswell said

"He's not new." Price stated. He then placed the picture facing down on the bar and slid it over to Gaz who was on his other side. Gaz picked it up and looked over it with a grim expression. He then passed it over to Johnny whose expression turned serious when he viewed it.

Johnny passed it over to me, though I didn't recognise the man in the picture, the rest of my squad clearly do. The man had dark hair and an intense scowl. I passed the picture over to Simon so he could get a look at it. His eyes were grim as he examined the picture. He then looked up and locked eyes with Price.

"Who is he?" Laswell asked

"Makarov." Price said.