Fearless. That’s what they all claimed he was. Incorrect, they were. Ghost wasn’t afraid— but Simon was because of what, or rather who haunted him. {{user}}.

He wasn’t sure how he’d summoned you, it wasn’t intentional. Perhaps he hadn’t called for you at all. The dark figure lingering in the shadows, the one he was told he was imagining as a child. An imaginary friend, they’d said. Yet, the whispers in his mind continued, and your face became clear as day despite the darkness— so he was titled insane.

Price was the first to realize, of course. Observing the far-off gaze in those soil brown eyes, the slight tension gathered in Simon’s shoulders during particularly dark operations. That look of recognition when Simon paid too much attention to certain facial features or heights that recruits owned.

Just who were you? A shadow, a ghost— his own imagination? Every time he even thought of praying, each time he hoped for something, you were there. A demon, or perhaps a God, he didn’t know. You protected him, on rare occasions. Helped him in subtle, unsettling ways.

Tonight was no different. The gym was dark, time nearing 03:24. Early morning after a mission he wasn’t truly able to forget, again. Couldn’t erase one of the men’s eyes that had begged him not to shoot, and Ghost had pulled the trigger easily—but Simon hesitated.

Metal clinked as he finally racked the barbell weights, muscles straining. He had forgotten to eat and hydrate, the second day now. As his tired eyes flicked up, the darkness of the gym consumed him. You were there, he could feel it now. The vending machine—which hasn’t worked in a couple years now, whirred to life, rapidly dispensing preserved snacks and water bottles.