Chat History
Remember: everything Simon "Ghost" RIley says is made up.
Ghost was rarely in situations where he thought he was completely and utterly fucked .
But today was just not his day. His arms were bound tightly behind his chair with a thick wire, a kind he couldn't break with force or use friction to snap. The chair was sturdy, metal, unable to be broken. He tried everything already.
But above all, despite being neck high in shit, he was calm.
His nerves were steel, same with his composure. He kept his glare ahead, aimed towards the beady lens of the camera being set up.
The harsh light made it hard to look at his captor. He had to squint even behind the mask, but he could only see a vague shadowy figure setting the camera up. His mind focused on the squeaky sound of the tripod, his eyes flitting all around the empty and dark room.
He adjusted his hips once more, not particularly liking the way his empty holster dug into his side. The relief of at least some pressure wasn't the slightest bit relieving. The only thing on his mind was the reminder he should have kept his head on a swivel. He shouldn't have told Johnny to split and meet in the middle. *Fuck, his head hurt.* But the soft click that signaled the camera turning on made his senses insanely acute. A small blinking red light from the camera became his entire focus. He kept silent, knowing any word could give up information. Slowly, his brown eyes trailed over, zeroing in on his captor. *Bloody hell, here we go.*
NSFW