How to Love the Stars | Ghost (Simon Riley)

Chapter 51

Ghost

Ghost's head tilted back against the cold floor, his eyes shut tight. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but it was a far cry from the pain raging inside him.

Ghost was able to do little else but bark out a hoarse laugh. Carlos, hovering above him with a malevolent grin, cocked his head, intrigued by this unexpected reaction.

"What's so funny?" Carlos sneered, his amusement tinged with annoyance. Ghost's laughter only seemed to fuel his sick curiosity.

Ghost opened his eyes, meeting Carlos's gaze with a calm intensity that belied the chaos within him. He let out a long breath, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "The stars were beautiful tonight," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the words were meant more for himself than for his captor.

Carlos's smile widened, misunderstanding Ghost's words as a sign of defeat. "Looks like you've finally lost it," he taunted, reveling in what he thought was his victory.

With a deliberate slowness, Carlos cocked the pistol he held, the metallic click echoing ominously in the room. He lowered the gun, pressing its cold barrel against Ghost's forehead. Ghost didn't flinch, his eyes still locked on Carlos's.

"Goodbye, Simon Riley," Carlos said, his voice dripping with malicious satisfaction. He savored the moment, confident that he had broken the legendary soldier known as Ghost.

Ghost closed his eyes once more, and savored the sweet taste of the fleeting final moments that Althea had given him.

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The deafening roar of the missile's propulsion system echoed through the chamber. Althea's eyes widened in horror as the colossal machine began its ascent. The countdown timer may have reached zero, but the battle for control wasn't over. She frantically pressed more buttons, desperately trying to abort the launch.

Alarms blared, red lights flashing in a chaotic symphony of warning. The missile, fueled by the destructive force within, continued its upward trajectory. Althea's mind raced, searching for any possible solution to avert the impending disaster.

The weight of failure pressed down on her shoulders, but she refused to yield. Amidst the alarms and the thunderous roar of the missile's engines, Althea's determined gaze remained fixed on the control panel. She had to find a way to redirect the missile, to ensure it harmlessly veered away from its destructive path.

As the missile breached the surface, the cold realization set in – she couldn't stop the launch. The fate she had desperately tried to alter was sealed. Althea's breath caught in her throat, and a mix of frustration, sorrow, and guilt clouded her expression.

In the control room, the deafening sound of blood pounding in her ears was replaced by a stunned silence. The mission had faltered, and the consequences were beyond comprehension. Althea's mind raced with the faces of those she had tried to save, the lives now irrevocably changed by the devastating force unleashed.

The chamber, once a battleground of secrecy and urgency, now echoed with the haunting sounds of failure. Althea slumped against the control panel, her head bowed in defeat. She had faced enemies, infiltrated strongholds, and overcome insurmountable odds, but in this critical moment, the mission had slipped through her fingers like grains of sand.

Althea suddenly caught something peculiar out of the corner of her eye. The missile had started losing altitude! What was going on?

Althea's eyes widened in disbelief as she registered the unexpected turn of events. The missile, once soaring into the sky with ominous intent, now seemed to falter. Its trajectory shifted, and the downward descent began. The hum of the engines changed, a disconcerting symphony of malfunction and confusion.

Frantically, Althea's attention snapped back to the control panel. The data streaming across the screen indicated a critical failure in the propulsion system. It was as if fate itself had intervened, offering a slim chance at redemption.