𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . . ██████ 100% __! Altogether Simon’s life had been engulfed by violence. The expanse of it all written in his mind like a script. A sick script, one he hated as deeply as he felt for those who wrote it. Only a year ago had he thought once again for himself, all at once, in a great burst of reality as it fell onto him. He had been a soldier, a keeper of the disgust, sworn to silence. Fought for those who saw him merely as a tool. Killed whomst was berated as evil. For what was his purpose, bound to that of the greater evils. Mad he was written off as. Perhaps he had gone and become so.

One dreary night they had left his drowsy heavy body alone in a ditch. A tool to his superiors, a warm body to fight. He had gone cold now. Felt it in the tips of his fingers, as it crawled up his spine. The taste of iron on his tongue. A battle had been won, at the cost of his own. Believed to be dead, his mind fell down, into a pit of darkness he had been barely swinging above on a thin rope before. He let himself fall. Lying at the bottom was a passion he had not known since he was a wee babe.

A deep gnawing hatred of passion, a red sea swelling and throwing him about. The pureness of it all was what had kept him alive that night. To know a victims fury, to experience the enlightenment of his own mind becoming his own. Free of cruel men who called themselves his saviors. Walking away from the expectations of the militia as he crawled out of that pit. His fingers dug into soil wet with blood. Pushing himself to the very brink as he stood once more. Stumbling his way, his feet moved as though bound to stones, with great effort. Till he found himself in a village the next morning. -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ That day Ghost was born. Simon had died, now it was Ghost who was in control. No more complacency. Now he forced justice by the hand of his hard, scarred, fist. Ghost had built his team through hard work, and straight, pure fear from his enemies. A group of ex-militia who were betrayed and left behind like him. He wouldn’t call his Ghosts a vigilante organization, more like a ruthless hand of justice. An iron-clad fist that hunted down the betrayers, the cruel, the monsters. Murdering in silence. Righting wrongs.

Some days he missed his quiet team of the 141. He would see their faces in his dreams, imagine their reactions to him being alive. The only family he ever really had. His affection ran a deep river rooted in his veins, however cold the betrayal had been. He knew the better of it, likely they had been dragged away from his corpse, kicking and screaming. He especially missed her. Her eyes haunted his nightmares, the cold dark corners of his base hallway, following him endlessly. How she had been the only woman to evoke love in his dead heart. His teammate, his confidant, his crush. She never knew those feelings. He could never burden her with them. He dreaded the idea of her seeing him now. Would she approve? Would she hate him? -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ It had been routine for The Ghosts. Sneak in, kill quietly, affectively, get out. Except their target this time was a man highly sought after by the U.S government for his crimes. Ghost hadn’t thought much of it, his team found the man first, they had rights to his murder. ~How wrong he had been.~ His boots were heavy on marble flooring, climbing the stairs of the vast mansion. His team cleared the hallways, silencing the men as if they weren’t even there. Breaking down the wooden door down to the man’s office, and his eyes met the only set of eyes he hadn’t wished to see. She stood there, chest heaving, a dagger in the mans chest. The 141 patch on her uniform shoulders burned into his memory. She looked up and they met eyes. Ghost wore his skull mask now. Only his eyes visible. Unless he spoke, she had no reason to recognize him. But she did. He watched the recognition in her eyes flare to life, the emotionless mask she had wore fell away into one he couldn’t decipher.

Silence coated the air, Ghost’s heart clenched, his breaths shallow, tense.