Liability [Simon Ghost Riley]

the ghost

The air inside the warehouse was thick with tension, the sound of heavy boots echoing against the concrete floor. The team had already split into two groups: Price and Simon at the front, their weapons at the ready, and Gaz and Soap taking the rear entrance. Every step felt like it could be their last. The dim lighting barely illuminated their surroundings, but they knew their objective.

Get Phoebe out. Alive.

Simon's heart pounded in his chest as he and Price moved forward through the narrow corridors. Every shadow, every movement, set his nerves on edge. He was close now—so close. He could feel it. Phoebe was in here, somewhere, and he wasn't going to let anything stop him from finding her.

Price, who had been his mentor and leader for years, was silently moving beside him, eyes scanning the area. They were a well-oiled machine, a team that trusted each other implicitly. But Simon couldn't help the pit of dread that had settled in his stomach. If anything happened to her...

They turned the corner and came face-to-face with their first group of enemies. Without hesitation, they opened fire, their shots precise and deadly. The men didn't even have time to react before they were dropped, bodies hitting the floor with sickening thuds.

Price signaled to Simon, and they moved forward, clearing the room in swift, ruthless movements. Simon's focus was razor-sharp as he scanned for more threats, his mind on one thing only: Phoebe.

Meanwhile, Gaz and Soap were at the back, clearing the hallway of enemies with brutal efficiency. Soap's massive form was a blur of force as he stormed through the rear entrance, taking out men one after the other. His size and strength were unmatched, each punch landing like a freight train. Gaz, moving with more calculated precision, was quick to cover his teammate, dropping anyone who dared to challenge them.

The team moved through the warehouse, fighting their way through ten armed men in total. There was no mercy. No hesitation. They all knew what was at stake.

And then, Simon heard her. The unmistakable sound of a woman's scream, echoing through the warehouse, sending a jolt of panic through his chest. Without a second thought, he sprinted toward the source, his weapon gripped tightly in his hand. He turned the corner and there she was.

Phoebe.

She was slumped against the wall, blood dripping from her body, her hands bound behind her. Her face was bruised and battered, but her eyes—despite the fear and pain—were still defiant.

The sight of her like this made something inside Simon snap. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the man in front of her—the one who had been torturing her. The man was laughing, a twisted grin on his face, but Simon wasn't listening anymore. All he saw was red. He rushed forward, his vision narrowing, and before the man had time to react, Simon had him by the throat, lifting him off the ground. The sound of his skull cracking against the concrete echoed through the room, but Simon didn't stop. He punched him again and again, brutal and unrelenting, until the man's body went limp.

It wasn't enough. Simon wasn't done. He picked the man up again, slamming his head against the ground in a final, violent motion. The man's face was unrecognizable, blood pooling around his head. Simon's hands were covered in it, his knuckles raw and bloodied. He stood over him, chest heaving, rage consuming him.

Price grabbed Simon by the shoulder and pulled him back, snapping him out of his frenzy. "Ghost, you need to focus." Price's voice was firm, but there was a hint of concern in it. "We don't have time for this. She needs you."

Simon stood there for a moment, his breathing ragged, eyes locked on the man he had just killed. The weight of the violence was sinking in, but Phoebe... Phoebe was alive. She was still here, and she needed him.

With one last, shaky breath, Simon turned and rushed to her side, kneeling beside her. Her pulse was weak, but it was there. She was alive. Simon's hands shook as he gently cradled her face, brushing her hair out of her eyes. His fingers moved to her neck, pressing lightly, feeling the faint beat of her pulse. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her skin, a silent promise to never let anything happen to her again.

"Phoebe, I've got you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He could feel the heat of the blood on his hands, the reality of her injuries setting in, but he wasn't about to lose her—not again.

He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her carefully, her limp body heavy in his arms. Every step felt like an eternity, but he finally got her to the truck. The door slammed shut behind him, and he gently placed her on the seat, leaning over her to apply pressure to her deep stomach wound. He wasn't sure if he was applying enough force, but he had to. She couldn't lose any more blood.

The others piled into the vehicle, the urgency of their mission clear in their movements, but Simon's focus never wavered. He ripped off his mask, his face a picture of exhaustion, panic, and guilt. His hands were trembling as he continued to hold Phoebe, his heart beating loudly in his chest.

His fingers brushed her face, wiping away the blood from her cheek, and then he held her close, cradling her in his arms as he desperately tried to keep her alive. His breath hitched as he felt the weight of the situation bearing down on him. Stay with me, Phoebe. Stay with me.

The team moved quickly, discussing their next steps, but all Simon could hear was the sound of Phoebe's shallow breathing, and the pounding of his own heart in his ears. Every minute felt like an eternity.

As they drove toward the safehouse, Simon's thoughts were consumed with Phoebe—wondering how long it would take for her to wake up, if she would even survive this, and whether he had failed her. But he couldn't afford to think about that now. There was no room for doubt. He had to stay strong for her.

Finally, when they arrived, Simon was still cradling her body in his arms, refusing to let anyone take her from him. Price helped Simon carefully lay her down on the table inside the safehouse. They worked quickly, patching up her wounds, but Simon never left her side.

When they finished, he wrapped her up in gauze, careful not to expose her injuries to the others. His eyes were constantly on her, monitoring her breathing, watching for any sign that she was slipping away.

Hours passed. Simon remained by her side, not once letting go of her hand. She was alive. She was still alive.

Eventually, he walked downstairs to meet the others, but even then, his mind was still on Phoebe. He didn't want to talk about Makarov. He didn't want to think about their next mission. All he could think about was Phoebe—and how he was going to keep her safe, no matter the cost.

Price met him at the door, his expression serious. "You ready to move, Simon?"

Simon's gaze hardened as he looked back toward the room where Phoebe rested. "I'm ready," he said, his voice hoarse but resolute. "But I'm not leaving her again. Not until this is over."

And with that, they began to strategize their next move, knowing that they would have to take down Makarov once and for all to ensure Phoebe's safety.

But for Simon, the fight was just beginning.