I Feel It In My Bones (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader)

Flashbacks of a Sole Survivor

Two Years Ago

It was your second time in your military career working in Mexico.

The first time had been three years prior, your first deployment. That was where you had gained your callsign, in a mausoleum surrounded by skeletons, when a mission to track down a drug cartel had gone wrong.

You were there again on a similar case, working with the so-called Cowboys, or Los Vanqueros. Your unit consisted of fifteen operators. As a medic, a combatant, and being fluent in Spanish, you had been selected to join a unit with the purpose of tracking down the Las Almas Cartel. Rumour was that they had upgraded from drug trafficking to international arms dealing.

Your team had been greeted by two rugged looking men, Rodolfo and Alejandro, before being transported to a safehouse outside of the city. You had translated their information during the journey, though kept Alejandro's flirtatious remarks to yourself. He kept calling you 'Huesos', asking why a girl as sweet as you had a callsign so grim. You shared your story with him, cheeks tinged with pink as he listened intently, unsure what to think of the attention. Every so often, you caught his gaze drifting to the upwards tilt of your lips as you conversed.

As you stepped out of the vehicle and onto the dusty ground, the dry heat enveloped you, a suffocating difference to the crisp air back home. Rodolfo and Alejandro led your team inside, their footsteps echoing in the empty corridors as you followed closely behind. The interior was sparse but functional, with makeshift sleeping quarters, a rudimentary kitchen, and a small armoury stocked with weapons and supplies. Outside, the landscape stretched out before you, an expanse of untamed wilderness that seemed to stretch on for miles. Tall grasses swayed gently in the breeze, their golden hues shimmering in the sunlight. It seemed peaceful, at odds against your reasons for being in the country.

After Rodolfo and Alejandro returned to the city, you spent the evening and following day with your team. You knew most of them already from the previous mission in Mexico, but there were some new members to greet. Around the safehouse, whether in the bunks or the kitchen or the living room, shades of blue, green, grey, and brown met yours in conversation. Eyes were the windows to the soul, and you always paid attention to what others told you with their gaze.

You talked with your captain, with Hound and Roach. Hound was younger than you, a private on his first deployment. His enthusiasm was barely contained as you talked, like a puppy in training, trying to do good but forgetting himself at times. It brought a wide smile to your face each time.

Roach was on loan from the SAS, a counter-terrorism expert. You sat in silence when with him, enjoying moments of peace when you could. Occasionally, you played a hand of cards. You learned that he was a sore loser, though only by the small scowl that would appear on his face each time you won a round.

Around midday, when you had been relieved of duties, you found yourself retreating to your bunk. You hadn't planned on sleeping, still clad in your uniform, your knives still holstered to your sides. But with the sounds of your teammates' chatter in the background and jet-lag still fresh, you allowed yourself to relax, and soon drifted off into a deep slumber.

And that was when it had happened.

The next time you opened your eyes, your world had turned upside down.

Muted booms sounded through your weeping eardrums. Fire blossomed into flowers of red and orange across the flattened surroundings, sparks flying like pollen in the spring.

Your team lay around you in a sick type of mosaic. Some were silent, ashen, either already dead or wishing they were. Some were sobbing, rods of metal piercing through the soft flesh of their bodies or running straight through their bones. Some were writhing, crying, and pleading for a higher power to save them.