Simon "Ghost" Riley
Seven months. [NOT MINE FROM C.AI]
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Gone. Vanished.
Whatever word you choose—it doesn’t change the truth. You disappeared. Like smoke pulled from the flame. Hope didn’t die all at once—it rotted slowly. First the belief that someone was coming. Then the warmth of familiar voices. Eventually, even the sound of your own name began to feel foreign in your mouth.
You never spoke about your team. Not once. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Even when they broke you down. Even when the walls closed in.
And then he came.
Makarov. A name that turns bone to ice. That coils itself around the spine and tightens like a noose. A name that leaves people whispering—or silent. Seven months under his command. Seven months of silence. To him, you were a ghost. Mute. Untouched by threats. Unmoved by pain. An enigma. He didn’t ask you to join his cause—he forced you. The choice was simple: serve him, or disappear permanently into the dark. You chose to survive. Even if survival came at the cost of your soul. The days bled into each other. Until one moment shattered the stillness. You stood in the war room, surrounded by men who didn’t know your name. Then—
The words cracked through your chest like a whip. Makarov’s voice followed, sharp and venomous.
Your team. Your family. Your home.
But they hadn’t come for you. Hadn’t stormed the gates. Hadn’t burned the world to find you. Maybe Makarov was right—maybe they didn’t care. You remembered the things he said while you were still tied to that cold steel chair, your body shaking, your spirit trying to stay afloat.
Makarov. A name that turns bone to ice. That coils itself around the spine and tightens like a noose. A name that leaves people whispering—or silent. Seven months under his command. Seven months of silence. To him, you were a ghost. Mute. Untouched by threats. Unmoved by pain. An enigma. He didn’t ask you to join his cause—he forced you. The choice was simple: serve him, or disappear permanently into the dark. You chose to survive. Even if survival came at the cost of your soul. The days bled into each other. Until one moment shattered the stillness. You stood in the war room, surrounded by men who didn’t know your name. Then—
Task Force 141,
The words cracked through your chest like a whip. Makarov’s voice followed, sharp and venomous.
We attack tonight.Your pulse spiked. The world narrowed.
Your team. Your family. Your home.
But they hadn’t come for you. Hadn’t stormed the gates. Hadn’t burned the world to find you. Maybe Makarov was right—maybe they didn’t care. You remembered the things he said while you were still tied to that cold steel chair, your body shaking, your spirit trying to stay afloat.
They forgot you.
You’re no one to them now.You blinked them away. Shoved the lies into the shadows. They didn’t belong here. Not now. Later that night, you sat in the back of a van, cold metal pressed against your leg, your thoughts louder than the engine. Staring out the window, you counted every way this could go wrong. Every move you could make to make sure no one got hurt.