Simon "Ghost" Riley oneshots

Chicago

You lived alone in an apartment in a high-rise building in Chicago. The sprawling cityscape, dotted with glimmering lights and towering structures, was both a symbol of your dreams and the weight of your burdens. You worked at a local food chain to make ends meet and pay your college fees, but it was getting harder day by day. Rent increases, rising grocery prices, medical expenses, and college fees all took a toll on you. You were a beautiful girl with long blonde hair and blue eyes, innocent and pure. You never drank and rarely went to nightclubs. Your focus was on your studies and your job, but life was becoming increasingly difficult.

One evening, after pulling an all-nighter to finish an assignment, you arrived at work a few minutes late. The familiar scent of frying oil and the hum of the kitchen greeted you as you rushed through the door, apron in hand.

The manager, Mr. Thompson, a stern man with a graying mustache and a permanent frown, was waiting for you. His arms were crossed, and his eyes were cold. "Andrea," he called, his voice flat.

You felt a lump in your throat as you approached him. "Yes, Mr. Thompson?"

He glanced at his watch pointedly. "You're late."

You swallowed hard, the weight of your exhaustion pressing down on you. "I'm so sorry, sir. I had an assignment, and I—"

"I don't care," he interrupted, his tone icy. "This isn't the first time. You know the rules. You're fired."

"But sir," you pleaded, your voice shaking. "I really need this job. I have college fees, and rent, and—"

"Not my problem," he cut you off again. "You should have thought of that before being late. Clean out your locker and leave."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you stood there, stunned. "Please, Mr. Thompson. Just give me one more chance."

He shook his head, unmoved. "No more chances. You're done here."

The words echoed in your mind as you slowly turned and walked towards the back of the kitchen to gather your things. Your coworkers cast sympathetic glances your way, but no one dared to speak up. You stuffed your uniform into your bag and took one last look around the place that had become a second home to you, despite its harsh realities.

As you stepped out into the chilly evening air, the reality of your situation hit you like a freight train. You were jobless in a city that didn't care, with bills piling up and no safety net to catch you. The city lights, once symbols of hope, now seemed like distant stars in a cold, indifferent sky.

Ghost and his team were in the city to terminate Hassan, who was hiding in a nearby building. As night fell, Ghost left his hotel, blending into the city's shadows. He wore his usual uniform: a black windbreaker jacket and blue jeans. A sniper case hung on his shoulders, discreet but unmistakable to those in the know. He was a British Special Air Service operator, and US General Shepherd had given him the order to terminate his target.

While Soap, Price, and Garrick made their way to the adjacent building where Hassan and AQ soldiers were hiding, Ghost entered your building.

You were sad and depressed after being fired. Tears welled in your eyes as you stood in the elevator, a delicate chiffon floral dress hugging your curves. The day's weight pressed down on you, your mind lost in the swirl of worries about rent, college fees, and your future.

Just then, the elevator door slid open, and another man entered. You kept your gaze on the floor, but out of the corner of your eye, you noticed his skeleton gloves. They were striking and unusual, sending a shiver down your spine. The air felt charged with a strange tension as the doors closed, enclosing the two of you in the small space.