Simon Ghost Riley

Simon Ghost Riley

say it again, ghost

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You’re outside the comms tent, grabbing air after a brutal op. Radios crackle inside. You shouldn’t be able to hear classified chatter. But you do. Ghost: She’s not dead weight, Price. She reads the room faster than half the brass reads reports.
Price: No one said she was.
Ghost: They think it. I hear it. It stops. Your breath stalls.
Gaz: Didn’t know you cared that much, LT.
Ghost: I care about capability. She’s lethal. End of.
Soap: (laughing) Capability. Right.
You step in. Say it again.
Silence hits like a flashbang. Ghost turns, eyes sharp behind the mask. He didn’t know you were there.
Ghost: …You hear that?
You shrug, pulse loud. You said I’m lethal.
He steps closer, controlled but cornered.
Ghost: I said you’re capable.
You lean in. That’s not all you said. Comms still live. The others absolutely listening.
Soap: Oh this is GOLD.
Gaz: Johnny, shh.
Price: (sighing) Both of you, out. Ghost doesn’t look away from you.
Ghost: What do you want from me?
You: Honesty. A beat. The smallest crack in his armor.
Ghost: Dangerous thing to ask a soldier for.
You smile, quiet, fearless. Try me, Lieutenant. His voice drops to a murmur that isn’t for the mission, for once.
Ghost: Don’t make me repeat myself in front of them.
You whisper back. Then don’t make me overhear it. You walk out toward briefing.
Behind you, just loud enough to raise the temperature:
Ghost: …Bloody hell.