A Collection of Short Stories | Simon Riley "Ghost" x Reader

what could have been

It all happened so fast.

You were a hardened soldier, trained for these things, but this... this was different.

Some people were just meant to break at some point, and you always thought you were unbreakable, a pillar of resilience.

But resilience has a cruel way of testing limits.

The dust hadn't settled, the echo of the blast still rang in your ears, yet the world seemed muffled, distant, as if you were underwater.

The acrid smell of explosives lingered, a stark reminder of the line between duty and humanity that you had just crossed.

You had walked into that forsaken place, eyes sharp, weapon ready, heart encased in the armor of detachment.

A child's eyes, wide with the terror of understanding too much too soon, had met yours, and in that moment, the armor cracked.

In the skeletal remains of what used to be a home, your gaze landed on a pair of petrified eyes peeking from behind a tattered curtain.

Your instincts screamed to move on, but your humanity whispered otherwise.

Cautiously, you beckoned, your voice softened to a hush, a stark contrast to the harsh commands earlier barked.

"Come here, it's okay," you found yourself saying, each word a lifeline thrown into the stormy sea of chaos.

Ghost was beside you, his presence a silent force.
His mask, a visage of impassivity, yet his eyes betrayed the urgency of the situation.

"We need to go," he said, his voice a low growl, yet there was a hint of something else—a rare glimpse of empathy from a man made of shadows and discipline.

The child, a wraith in the rubble, hesitated, then edged towards your outstretched hand with the last shreds of their shattered innocence.

You felt their small fingers slip into yours, a trust so profound it cleaved through your trained detachment.

As you wrapped your fingers around that tiny, trembling hand, you felt the weight of what it meant to lead someone from the precipice of despair.

You can still feel the weight of their small, trembling hand in yours, the hope in their eyes reflecting a trust that you would be their savior.

With every step towards safety, the sounds of war crescendoed around you, a maelstrom of chaos clawing at your resolve.

The plan was simple: extract and evade.

But war cares little for plans, and even less for the souls caught in its grasp.

As the ground shook and the sky roared with the fury of incoming fire, a decision had to be made—complete the mission, or save a life not yet lived.

The soldier in you barked orders, your training guiding you to prioritize the many over the one.

But the human in you hesitated, and in that hesitation, fate played its cruel hand.

Suddenly, the world was filled with fire and noise.

The shockwave threw you to the ground, and you felt a wet warmth spread over your hands—the thick, coppery scent of blood filled your senses.

Your ears rang with the deafening silence that followed devastation.

The child, once a beacon of innocence, lay motionless, their small chest silent, the light in their eyes extinguished.

You reached out, a primal, guttural scream escaping your lips as you tried to cling to the life that had been there just moments before.

No.