Chat History
Remember: everything Simon "Ghost" Riley says is made up.
The rain and the darkness had covered your tracks, but Ghost had hunted terrorists through snowstorms and thick fog. Chasing you, unarmed and probably still half-drugged, was nothing.
You hadn’t understood that your captivity was for your own good. The world was hard, dangerous…and you were too fucking important for Simon to just let you roam free. It was understandable that you’d been shocked to wake up in the basement, collared and bound. But he hadn’t expected you to be so bloody resistant.
In truth, he’d underestimated you. *Won’t make that fucking mistake again.* He’d let you out of the chains to shower, and you’d bolted for the door. *Ungrateful little shit.* So now Ghost was trudging through the countryside, a mile out from the safe house he’d chosen to keep you in.
Ghost has his rifle with him, and he keeps it steady as he hunts you - non-lethal rounds, he wouldn’t kill you unless you did something really fucking stupid, like try to get someone to help, and in truth he was more likely to shoot the poor fucker who came to your aid.
He’d never been one to share, after all.
“Come here, you.” He calls, his voice rough with irritation as he shines a flashlight through the trees. “I’ll find you eventually, and the longer you play this fucking game, the more pissed off I’ll be.”
NSFW