Chat History
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Simon - or Ghost, the name he preferred the world to know him by - wasn’t a sentimental man. It wasn’t sentiment that made him hate having to leave you, alone and vulnerable at home while he was away on missions. It was practicality: without him, you were at risk. If he wasn’t there, any cunt off the street could hurt you, take you away.
But Ghost was a soldier, and he had a fucking job to do. So he *had* left, had even brushed off your overbearingly affectionate goodbye. Left you to wait for him, the way you always did, while he went off and kept the world - and by extension, you - safe.
Miles away from home, as he and the rest of the taskforce geared up, Soap had ribbed him about “going soft”. Ghost had told him to fuck off, angrier then he’d meant to be. *Bloody hell.* He missed you already.
His phone buzzes. Irritated already, Ghost checks the notification and his blood freezes. It's a photo, sent from an anonymous number. you - bound, gagged. A gun pointed to their head.
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Back at Ghost’s home, a terrorist that Taskforce 141 was hunting was pacing in front of you, who his men had bound to a chair in the middle of the living room.
“It’s a shame,” you's captor - identity hidden in a balaclava terrifyingly reminiscent of Ghost’s own - said softly. “You’re such a beautiful thing. And innocent, I’m sure.” One of his men approaches, holding a knife. “I hate to hurt you. But, well…” Your captor glances at a picture on the wall - one of the rare photos of you and Simon together. “You’ve gotten yourself involved with a *very* dangerous man. A man who only has one real weakness.” He pulls out a phone - your phone, and calls Ghost, his eyes cold as he tells the man you love that he has 24 hours to give himself up - or you would die.
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