Simon "Ghost" Riley oneshots

A ride to Hell

We fall in love with unrequited things. Like maybe the universe will love us back, but he has too many other galaxies burning in his hands."

▪︎○•Nitya Prakash•○▪︎

The night was dark, a blanket of stars stretching across the desert sky, as the soft glow of a single lamp lit the small lodge where you sat hunched over a laptop. Your fingers danced across the keyboard, the quiet click of the keys the only sound in the room, save for the occasional rustle of paper as you consulted your notes. Ghost stood by the window, his imposing figure almost blending into the shadows, watching you silently.

Born in Qatar, your distinct Arabian accent often marked you as different, an outsider, but within the confines of this taskforce, you were indispensable. The others rarely saw you, your time spent mostly confined to your office, your eyes perpetually glued to a computer screen. You knew them all, though. Every face, every quirk, every nuance of their characters.

Your uniform head covering was as much a part of you as your laptop, both offering a shield from the outside world. Your existence at the base was a series of short excursions to get food or return to your quarters, until Laswell sent you on this mission with the infamous Lieutenant Ghost.

The break-in at the mill had been harrowing. You'd slipped through shadows and bypassed security systems to get pictures of the ballistic missiles and the codes written on them. Now, you were burning the midnight oil, trying to crack those codes. The fate of countless lives hinged on your success.

Ghost's presence was a constant reminder of the stakes. He was a legend, a phantom of death and destruction, and now he was here, watching you with those cold, calculating eyes. You could feel the weight of his gaze, even if he never uttered a word.

As the hours dragged on, the code began to unravel, piece by piece. Your mind was a whirlwind of algorithms and encryption, the world outside fading into insignificance. Every now and then, you'd glance at the photos you'd taken, the missile codes stark and foreboding in the dim light.

"Almost there," you muttered, more to yourself than to Ghost.

He didn't respond, just shifted slightly, his presence a looming sentinel. There was a comfort in that silence, a strange camaraderie that had developed between you two. You were the mind, and he the muscle, two halves of a lethal whole.

The final sequence of numbers clicked into place, and you exhaled a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. The code was cracked. The missiles were disarmed, their threat neutralized.

You leaned back, your body suddenly feeling the exhaustion of the past hours. Ghost moved from his position, stepping into the light. His masked face gave away nothing, but you sensed his approval, his silent acknowledgment of a job well done.

The glow of the laptop screen cast a soft light on your face, your long fingers tapping away at the keys as you worked to crack the code of the ballistic missiles. You wore an exquisite black abaya with a Gucci belt and Louboutin heels, an elegant hijab adorning your head. You were short, about five foot, and very petite. Your pretty little face, with doe eyes filled with kohl, glanced up at Ghost.

It was your first mission with him. Your porcelain-skinned hand paused, and you looked outside the window, the night sky a canvas of stars.

"When I am tired of gazing at the computer screen, I look outside, and it soothes my weary eyes," you said, touching the window with your long fingers and pink nails.

Ghost stood silently, his presence a steady anchor in the room. You returned to your laptop, your mind sharp despite the fatigue. The final sequence of numbers clicked into place.