A Nurse and Their Ghost | Simon Riley "Ghost" x Reader

chapter 17

As the days turn to nights and the nights back to days, the lapse of time seems to blur into an indistinguishable haze. It's now two months since you embarked with your modest squad, taking up the mantle of a field medic, bound by duty and an unyielding spirit. 

Now, the elite group of 141 is huddled around a small monitor, their eyes glued to the haunting scenes playing out on the screen. The video arrived at Price's desk, anonymous and veiled in ominous secrecy. Although grainy, likely captured on an old device, the audio pierces through with chilling clarity. 

Your screams reverberate through the room, leaving a haunting imprint that's bound to linger in the halls of their memory.

An unforeseen catastrophe led to a chain of separations among your team, dwindling unity until each soul was left to fend for themselves amid an eerie base that was believed to be deserted. Yet, it wasn't. 

Despite the ominous odds, the crucial intel was secured, but the foes vanished hastily. It was the disheartening silence at the exfiltration point, your notable absence, that unveiled the grim reality to your comrades. Reporting this grim news to Price was a task that felt heavier than the most formidable of armaments.

The piercing silence of two months shatters as Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz assemble in Price's office, their solemn faces reflecting the weight of the grim narrative unfolding on the screen. There you are, confined to a cold metal chair, battered and bruised, your spirit relentless but your body showcasing the tales of torment. 

The grotesque scene unfolds as one of your captors forcefully yanks your head by your hair, hurling muffled Russian threats, which you greet with stoic silence. Your audacity earns you a spiteful spit, yet your steely gaze doesn't falter. The villainous laugh that follows carries a shiver down the spine of every 141 member observing from afar.

As the main antagonist in the video steps away, veiling you from view, another menacing figure approaches, brandishing a cattle prod with a devilish glee. His venomous words intended for the 141 are barely audible over the sinister hum of the prod and the agonized scream that escapes your lips. As the screen fades into an abyss of scrambled static, the tormenting scenes repeat, each replays a dagger through the hearts of your comrades.

"It's proof of life," Price declares solemnly, hitting the monitor into silence. The proposition is a trade - the vital intel for your life. The room plunges into a contemplative silence until Gaz inquires about tracing the source, earning a response about Laswell's ongoing attempts.

Amid the somber silence, all eyes inadvertently shift towards Ghost. His stance is unmoving, his eyes seemingly hollow as they remain fixated on the blank screen. Yet, anyone who knows him can read the tempest raging behind those calm eyes. 

Each echo of your scream, every scornful taunt, each brutal strike sends a searing ache through his core. He can almost visualize the horror, feel the sting of cold metal, the brute force of relentless fists, the agonizing jolt of the prod. 

The fear coursing through him isn't solely for your safety, but the rising dread of facing the unforgiving truth of warfare - the ruthless snatching away of comrades, leaving behind nothing but ghostly memories.

In the stark contrast of these memories, the reality unfolding in that dark, cold room is a relentless battle of its own. Each passing moment, the tight grip of the cold metal, the haunting laughter of the tormentors, the cruel jabs, they all attempt to chip away at your resolve. 

Though their words might be foreign, their malicious intentions resonate clear as day. Amid the engulfing darkness, thoughts of Ghost and your 141 family flicker like a defiant flame, fueling the sliver of hope that burgeons with every imagined rescue. In this abyss, the mere notion of your comrades' relentless pursuit shines as your solitary beacon of hope.