Chapter III | Beneath the Mask | Simon Ghost Riley Fanfiction
Chapter 3: Capture or Kill
Previous | Next | Masterlist
The first light of dawn filtered through the small window of Y/N’s quarters, casting a soft glow across the room. The silence was broken only by the low hum of the base’s electric fan and the distant sounds of soldiers moving through the halls. Y/N’s eyes flickered open, the adrenaline of the upcoming mission already buzzing beneath her skin, despite the stillness of the early morning.
She lay still for a moment, letting the quiet wash over her before swinging her legs off the bed, the coolness of the concrete floor sending a jolt of alertness through her body. The mission was only hours away, and she knew that once the briefing started, the clock would be ticking. She had to be ready—physically, mentally, and emotionally.
Without a word, she moved toward the small bathroom, the familiar routine helping her center herself.
The sound of water running as she splashed her face was soothing, and as she looked at her reflection, she saw a woman who had seen far more than her years should have allowed. Yet, in the mirror, she saw only resolve, no room for doubt. Today, she couldn’t afford to let anything slip—especially not now, not with everything on the line.
After dressing in her tactical gear, she checked her weapons—each one precise, each one ready. The weight of the rifle felt familiar in her hands, comforting almost, despite the tension that seemed to seep into her bones. She couldn’t afford to overthink. The mission had to be executed flawlessly. She could hear Ghost’s words echoing in her head: “Focus on the mission. We get in, we get out. Simple.”
Once ready, Y/N checked the time. It was still early—too early for most of the team—but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep any longer. She grabbed her gear, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and headed out.
The base was still quiet as she made her way to the briefing room, the hallways empty save for the occasional soldier preparing for the day ahead. As she approached the door, she noted the stillness in the air—a sense of calm before the storm. She made to sure to always arrive early. There was something about the stillness of a room before everyone else showed up, the anticipation of what was to come. It gave her a moment to mentally prepare, to ground herself before the chaos of the mission fully kicked in.
When she entered the briefing room, the fluorescent lights flickered to life overhead, casting a sterile light across the walls. The mission board was already up, a detailed map of Al Mazrah sprawled across the surface, red markers showing key locations, objectives, and possible threats. Tactical plans were carefully laid out, and in the center of it all, Y/N stood, absorbing every detail.
She wasn’t just looking at the map, though. She was already mentally running through the strategies, planning each movement in her head. She’d memorized every piece of intel, every possible outcome. Her thoughts raced ahead, predicting enemy movements, thinking through the best possible ways to neutralize threats.
The sound of the door opening pulled her out of her thoughts. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Ghost moved in like a shadow, his boots heavy but silent on the floor. As usual, he didn’t speak right away, instead just studying her for a moment, noting the tension in her posture, the readiness in her stance.
“Surprised to see you this early,” Ghost said, his voice low, carrying its usual calm authority but with a faint undercurrent of amusement.
Y/N didn’t turn, though a fleeting smile ghosted across her lips. “Someone’s gotta make sure we’re squared away.”
Ghost leaned against the wall, his arms crossing casually over his chest. “Overachiever, are we?”
“Just thorough,” she replied, her tone light but tinged with focus.
Ghost grunted, a noncommittal sound, and folded his arms across his chest. He leaned against the wall, still watching her, but his presence was steadying, like a weight anchoring her down when the mission details tried to pull her in every direction at once.
Y/N’s gaze remained locked on the mission board, but her thoughts were anything but focused. The reality of the mission weighed heavily on her shoulders, and despite the grounding presence of the man behind her, a knot of nerves began to form in her chest. This is it, she thought, the magnitude of the operation settling in like a cold, heavy weight. The intel, the lives at stake—it all hinged on their success.
Soap’s voice broke through her internal monologue. “Oi, you good there, Falcon?” His teasing tone had a more genuine edge now, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in her still form as he enters the room. “You’re lookin’ a little too focused.”
Falcon, huh? she thought to herself, the call sign still feeling more like a joke than a badge of honor. It hadn’t taken long for the other recruits to slap it on her, a not-so-subtle jab at her connection to her father’s infamous call sign. They’d smirk and say it like it was some great honor, but she could hear the undertones—the mocking edge, the way it hinted she’d only gotten this far because of her name. Falcon was meant to remind her that no matter how hard she worked, she’d always be flying in someone else’s shadow.
Y/N shifted, the tension in her shoulders evident, but she didn’t look at him. Instead, she spoke without missing a beat. “Just going over the plan. We need to get Hassan.”
Ghost, who had been silently observing the exchange, pushed off the wall and approached her. His presence was steady, a calm contrast to the buzz of uncertainty that was beginning to take root in Y/N’s mind. He knew what she was feeling—he could see it in the subtle way her hands flexed, the way her jaw tightened as if she were holding something back.
“Hey,” Ghost said, his voice low but steady, a reminder of the grounding force he always seemed to be.
She still didn’t meet his gaze, her mind too far ahead of the present moment. But he didn’t press. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence close enough that she could feel his steadying influence without even having to look at him.
A pause, before-
“How much do you trust yourself right now?” Ghost’s voice was low, purposeful, cutting through the quiet like a challenge.
Y/N hesitated, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. “I don’t know what you’re talking about”
A heavy silence followed. Ghost didn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze bore into her, unreadable behind the mask but heavy with scrutiny.
Y/N shifted on her feet, suddenly hyper-aware of his presence.
Finally, Ghost spoke, his tone blunt but without malice. “We don’t get the luxury of ‘what if.’ That’s not how this works.” As if he knew the raging thoughts in Y/N’s mind.
Y/N’s breath hitched, and she glanced at the map again, her mind racing. She wanted to push back, to explain the pressure that knotted her stomach, but Ghost wasn’t the type to entertain doubts.
He stepped closer, just enough for his presence to loom. “You’re thinking too much,” he said flatly. “This isn’t about fixing everything in one mission. It’s about doing your job, staying sharp, and trusting the team.”
Her jaw tightened. “I trust the team. I just—”
“Then trust yourself,” he interrupted, his voice cutting through her protest like a blade. “You’ve got the skills. Use them. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”
Y/N clenched her fists tighter, forcing herself to meet his gaze. She didn’t need to see his face to know his expression hadn’t softened. “I just don’t want to be the one who screws this up.”
Ghost tilted his head slightly, his tone still distant but laced with finality. “If this goes south, it won’t be on one person. It’ll be because we all missed something. That’s why it’s a team.”
The tension in her shoulders eased slightly, but she didn’t respond right away. Ghost, true to form, didn’t wait for thanks or acknowledgment. He turned, his hand resting briefly on her shoulder as he passed. It wasn’t a comforting gesture—it was grounding, a quiet reminder to pull herself together.
“Focus, Falcon. We’ve got a job to do,” he said, his tone softening just enough to pull her back from the spiral in her mind. “The rest will fall into place.”
Y/N stared at the map a moment longer, his words circling in her head. By the time she turned to follow him, the tightness in her chest had dulled, replaced by a sharper resolve. Ghost didn’t offer reassurances for the sake of it, and that made his words stick.
Soap was still watching them, clearly having caught the shift in the air. “Alright, you two, enough of the sweet talk,” he said with a grin. “We’ve got a manhunt to start. Let’sb save the romance for later.”
Y/N chuckled, the sound light and genuine, before straightening and turning back to the mission board. The plan hadn’t changed. They were still going after Hassan, but now, there was a new layer of confidence in her movements. She knew what she had to do—and more importantly, she knew the team had her back.
“Let’s get it done,” Y/N said, her voice steady once again.
Soap slapped her on the back with a grin. “That’s the spirit.”
Ghost gave a small nod, as the rest of the team enter the briefing room.
-
The landscape of Al Mazrah had shifted from tense stillness to chaotic urgency. Dust swirled in the air, kicked up by the sounds of distant gunfire, and the constant hum of helicopters was almost deafening. As the team moved through the rugged terrain, the harsh, arid environment contrasted sharply with the pressure mounting on their shoulders. The sun had long set, and the only light came from the soft glow of their night vision goggles, which painted the world in varying shades of green.
The air felt thick, as if it held the weight of every decision, every order. Y/N’s senses were on high alert as she scanned the horizon, trying to anticipate the next move. Ghost’s voice was calm over the comms, but there was no mistaking the urgency in his tone. They had no time to waste.
"Airstrikes are hitting enemy positions, and intel confirms a concentration of AQ fighters in the valley," Laswell's voice crackled over the comms, sharp and efficient, cutting through the tension like a knife.
"They’re guarding three structures. Hassan may be holed up inside. You’ll be leading a Marine Special Operations unit to kill or capture him. All shooters have execute authority, but we want Hassan alive for interrogation. Be advised—Hassan is AQ’s lifeline. If he’s there, they will die for him. Good hunting." Laswell’s briefing echoed through Y/N’s mind over and over.
This was a critical mission. They had to bring Hassan in alive—or they would have to kill him to prevent a catastrophic threat from being unleashed.
Ghost's voice sliced through the air again, directing the team’s movements. "Bravo team offloads here. Alpha team stays onboard to land downrange. Both teams meet in the middle. Remember, we want Hassan alive, but this is capture or kill."
The roar of the helicopter blades was deafening, vibrating through Y/N’s bones as the aircraft descended into the valley. Her gaze was fixed forward, her grip tight on her weapon, her breath shallow.
As Soap fist-bumped one of the Marines beside him, Y/N stood rigid, the anticipation of what was to come settling in like a weight. The thrill of combat coursed through her veins, but she also felt the burden of responsibility. This wasn’t just about taking down terrorists. This was about stopping something much larger—something that could have global repercussions.
The chopper touched down a kilometer from the target structures, kicking up dust and debris. The world outside was dark, shrouded in a blanket of night, but their night vision cut through the darkness.
Ghost’s voice came through the comms, steady as always. “Keep up, Falcon.”
Her name was a steady reminder to stay focused, and Y/N nodded, pushing herself forward. There was no time for doubt. They had a job to do. The team moved as one, their footsteps muffled by the soft earth, and their weapons at the ready as they advanced through the valley. The ground was uneven, and the scent of dry desert air filled her lungs, sharp and bitter.
They approached the first structure cautiously, the night stretching out in every direction. The air was thick with tension, each of them scanning for movement, for any sign of enemy presence. The only sound was the subtle crunch of gravel beneath their boots and the occasional crackle of the comms.
Then, without warning, the silence was shattered.
“Razor 1 is bracketed, we’re getting lit,” the chopper pilot’s voice cut through the comms, frantic. Gunfire erupted from the distance, sharp and aggressive, punctuated by the screaming whistle of a missile cutting through the air.
Y/N’s body went rigid as she recognized the sound of an incoming missile—a weapon designed to tear through the sky with terrifying precision. The missile whistled by, narrowly missing the chopper, its tail of smoke a clear sign of just how close the strike had been. All seemed well until-
“Second Missile!”
"Razor 1 going down! We’re going down!" The pilot’s voice was ragged now, the fear evident. The sound of the chopper crashing was deafening, an explosion that rattled the ground beneath their feet, sending plumes of smoke and dust billowing into the air.
“Hold up,” Ghost barked, raising his fist. The team froze in their tracks. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest as they watched the wreckage of Razor 1 spiral to the ground, the violent explosion a cruel reminder of how quickly things could go wrong.
The air grew thick with smoke, and shots rang out from the structure ahead. Ghost’s voice snapped through the comms again. “Alpha, what’s your status?”
The response was immediate, but it was far from reassuring. “Alpha’s immobile. Multiple critical!” came the reply. “We’re taking effective fire!”
Y/N’s gaze shifted from the downed chopper to Ghost, a sense of urgency building in her chest. “Ghost, we need to secure that crash site now!” she urged, her voice tight with frustration.
Ghost’s expression didn’t change, though his voice softened. “We clear for Hassan first. That takes the heat off Alpha. Then we secure the crash site. Clear?”
Y/N hesitated, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. There was no time to waste. But Hassan could be the key, she thought. Still, she nodded, her voice steady as she replied, “Clear, Lieutenant.”
The team advanced with precision, their movements calculated, but the weight of the situation felt like a crushing pressure against her chest.
As they neared the structure, the sound of gunfire intensified, and the faint glow of explosions flickered on the horizon. They stormed the building, weapons raised, ready to clear whatever was inside.
Y/N’s heart raced as she sprinted up the stairs, scanning each corner. The building was eerily silent except for the muffled sound of her own breathing and the rush of adrenaline that was pushing her forward. “Second deck clear! Negative on Hassan,” she reported into the comms, her voice tight.
Ghost's voice came through again, cold and commanding. “Move to building two.” The tension in the air was palpable, each of them aware that Hassan could be holed up somewhere in the complex, waiting to be found—or waiting to be eliminated.
The rest of the night unfolded in a blur of chaos. Gunfire, explosions, close calls. The realization that they were not just fighting AQ fighters, but an entrenched, organized enemy that was willing to die for Hassan, only made the mission more perilous.
The battlefield was chaos, but Y/N’s mind was clear as Alpha 0-2’s frantic voice crackled through her comms.
“Alpha, crash site is taking RPGs from building two, second deck!”
“Falcon, clear the second floor while we clear the first deck!” Ghost barked, his voice calm despite the urgency.
“Roger that, sir!” Y/N replied, adjusting her grip on her rifle. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she sprinted across the debris-littered field, Soap flanking her. They moved in tandem, practiced and precise.
The second floor loomed ahead, its windows dark and foreboding. Y/N scanned for movement, her pulse quickening as she and Soap breached the stairwell. They moved quietly, boots crunching against broken glass as they advanced.
“Keep moving!” Soap urged, his voice pulling her back to the task at hand.
They cleared the floor quickly, their movements synchronized like clockwork. As they pushed down the next corridor, rapid gunfire erupted ahead.
The sharp cry from Bravo 7-2 over the comms pierced through the chaos. “I’m hit!”
Y/N’s heart jumped, but her training took over. In one swift motion, she grabbed a flash bang from her vest, pulled the pin, and tossed it into the room ahead. The deafening explosion of light and sound disoriented the enemies inside, giving her the opening she needed.
She moved in fast, her weapon sweeping left and right. Each shot was precise, neutralizing targets with cold efficiency. Her gaze locked on the RPG-wielding soldier at the far end of the room. Without hesitation, she squeezed the trigger. The soldier fell, the RPG clattering uselessly to the ground.
“Enemy rocket’s down,” she reported, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.
“Good work,” Ghost’s voice came over the comms. “Clear the deck”
Instead of moving on, Y/N turned toward Bravo 7-2, who was slumped against a wall, clutching his side. Blood seeped between his fingers, staining the fabric of his uniform.
“Hold tight,” Y/N said, rushing to his side. She dropped to one knee, her medical training kicking in. “You good?”
He grimaced, shaking his head. “Took one to the side. Can’t tell how bad it is.”
Y/N’s hands moved with practiced precision as she assessed the wound. She peeled back the blood-soaked fabric to inspect the injury. The bullet had gone clean through, missing any vital organs. Relief flickered through her, but there was no time to waste.
“You’re lucky,” she said, her tone brisk but reassuring. “It’s a through-and-through. Painful, but you’ll live.”
From her med kit, she pulled out gauze and a hemostatic bandage. Working quickly, she applied pressure to stem the bleeding, then secured the bandage tightly around his torso.
“Hold that in place,” she instructed, guiding his hand to the makeshift dressing. “You’ll need proper treatment when we’re out, but this’ll keep you stable for now.”
Bravo 7-2 grunted, his face pale but determined. “Thanks, Falcon. You’re a lifesaver.”
Y/N gave him a tight nod, her focus already shifting back to the mission. She stood, scanning the room once more to ensure all threats were neutralized before switching back to comms.
“Bravo 7-2 is stable for now. Injured but good to move,” she reported.
“Copy,” Ghost replied. “Bravo 7-3, get him out of there. Falcon regroup on me.”
Y/N helped Bravo 7-2 to his feet, slinging his arm over her shoulder for support. As they moved toward the rendezvous point, her mind stayed sharp, scanning their surroundings for any lingering threats.
Behind the calm exterior, a small sense of pride bubbled. Her expertise had made the difference here, saving a teammate’s life. But there was no time to dwell—there was still a mission to complete.
They regrouped outside, the team on edge. Ghost assessed the situation quickly, nodding toward the crash site.
“Soap and I will move to the site. Falcon, hold here and cover us,” he instructed.
“Roger that.” Y/N took up a defensive position, her eyes scanning the horizon. Her grip on her rifle tightened as the rumble of approaching engines filled the air.
“Ghost, you’ve got four armored vehicles coming your way!” she warned, her heart pounding.
Before the rows of armored vehicles begin to fire, “Kilo 0-1 is inbound hot. Danger close,” came the pilot’s response over comms.
“Copy,” Ghost said. “Falcon, clear your position and meet us at the third building.”
“Roger!” Y/N responded, her voice steady, though her pulse quickened. She moved swiftly, darting across the open terrain, every step calculated to avoid enemy sightlines. The air crackled with the distant roar of missiles and the sharp staccato of gunfire.
Sliding behind a large boulder near the rendezvous point, Y/N crouched low, her rifle at the ready. The tension was palpable as she adjusted her goggles and scanned the perimeter. Through the green haze of her optics, she spotted four hostiles guarding the front entrance of the building.
Too exposed, she thought, her fingers tightening on her weapon as she shifted slightly to stay out of sight. Her scan moved upward, toward the rooftop—
A crunch of dried grass behind her.
The sound hit her like a gunshot, adrenaline flooding her veins. She whirled around, rifle raised, her finger pressing against the trigger—
“Check fire!” Ghost’s bark shattered the moment, his voice sharp and unyielding.
Her breathing was ragged as her eyes locked onto him, his imposing figure partially shrouded in shadow. He didn’t flinch, his gaze fixed on her.
“You’re twitchy, Falcon,” he remarked, his tone as calm as it was cutting. “Keep your focus, or next time it won’t be me stepping on a twig.”
Y/N swallowed hard, her grip loosening slightly on the rifle. “Noted,” she muttered, forcing herself to steady her breathing.
“Good. Now stay sharp,” Ghost said curtly before stepping past her, his presence a reminder of the razor-thin margin between control and chaos.
Soap clapped his shoulder as he caught up. “Come on, let’s get this bastard!”
The team pressed forward, ready to breach the third building with military precision.
But before they could reach the stone fence, the crack of a sniper's rifle cut through the air, and Bravo 7-6 crumpled to the ground with a cry of pain.
"Sniper on the roof! Get down!" Ghost’s sharp order rang out as the team scrambled for cover.
Y/N darted behind a stack of crates, her breathing steady despite the rush of adrenaline. She peeked out, scanning the rooftop through her gun’s scope.
The glint of the sniper’s scope gave him away, and she didn’t hesitate. One precise shot, and the enemy dropped.
"Sniper down," she reported, her voice calm but firm.
"Good shot," Ghost replied, already strategizing. "Soap, keep us covered; we’re moving up. Falcon, check on the wounded. Let’s regroup after.”
Y/N nodded, holstering her weapon as she sprinted to Bravo 7-6’s side. He was sprawled on the ground, clutching his chest. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and ominous, soaking into the dirt. Her heart sank, but she forced herself to stay focused.
“Can you hear me?” she asked, dropping to her knees beside him.
He groaned weakly, his breaths shallow and labored. Y/N’s hands moved with practiced efficiency, pulling her med kit from her vest. She tore open his shirt to expose the wound—a clean entry point, but the exit wound on his back was ragged and bleeding heavily.
“Fuck-,” she muttered under her breath, grabbing gauze and applying firm pressure to stem the bleeding. “Hold on, you’re going to be fine.”
The man’s eyes fluttered, his grip on her arm weak. “Am I…?”
“Don’t talk,” Y/N interrupted, her voice steady but urgent. “Save your strength.”
She worked quickly, applying a hemostatic agent to slow the blood loss and securing a pressure bandage over the wound. But the more she worked, the clearer it became. The amount of blood he was losing—it was too much.
Y/N glanced at his vitals, her jaw tightening. His breathing was becoming erratic, his pulse faint.
“Come on, stay with me,” she urged, her voice soft but firm.
Bravo 7-6’s eyes met hers, filled with pain and something else—resignation. “Tell…my family…” His words were a whisper, fading fast.
“No,” Y/N cut in, her hands pressing harder against the bandage. “You’ll tell them yourself. Stay with me.”
Suddenly-
His body went still, the faint rise and fall of his chest ceasing. Y/N froze, staring at him as the reality settled over her like a crushing weight.
She bowed her head for a moment, her blood-streaked hands trembling before she forced herself to move. Gritting her teeth, she grabbed her comms. “Bravo 7-6 is KIA,” she reported, her voice tight but steady.
A heavy silence followed on the line before Ghost responded. “Understood. Regroup when ready.”
Y/N closed her eyes briefly, her jaw clenched as she fought back the sting of failure. She reached out, gently closing Bravo 7-6’s eyes before standing and grabbing her rifle.
War didn’t allow for mourning, not now. She pushed the emotions down, compartmentalizing as she always did.
As Y/N reached the group, the team pushed through the building, clearing each floor with careful precision. The first deck yielded no sign of Hassan.
“Move to second deck,” Ghost directed, his voice steady but laced with urgency.
As they ascended, the faint sound of footsteps echoed from the room next door. Y/N’s heart pounded as she instinctively raised her rifle, her eyes locking onto the figure that appeared at the top of the stairs—an AQ soldier.
In a flash, his weapon swung toward her, the muzzle glinting in the dim light. Y/N froze for a fraction of a second, her breath catching as she prepared to pull the trigger—
Bang. Bang.
Ghost’s pistol barked twice, the sharp reports ringing in her ears. The AQ soldier crumpled to the ground, his weapon clattering uselessly beside him.
Y/N exhaled sharply, the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she glanced back at Ghost. “Thanks, LT,” she muttered, her voice tight.
Ghost’s gaze was steady, his tone colder than the air around them. “Pay attention, Falcon. Hesitation gets you killed.”
Her jaw tightened, the sting of his words hitting harder than she expected. “Won’t happen again,” she replied, her focus snapping back to the mission as they moved forward.
They pressed on, moving deeper into the building, each corner turned with meticulous caution. The air grew heavier as the minutes stretched on, the silence between them thick with unspoken tension. It wasn’t until Y/N’s eyes caught something—a discarded uniform—Hassan’s.
“Look Hassan’s uniform,” Soap says as he throws the garment towards Y/N.
“He was here,” Y/N said quietly, her fingers gripping the garment tight, her chest tight with frustration.
Ghost’s jaw tightened at the sight, his gaze flicking over the fabric before he spoke, his voice sharp. “We lost him at the crash site.”
The frustration that had been simmering inside Y/N finally boiled over. “Are you saying we shouldn’t have helped?” she shot back, her words sharp, her pulse quickening as anger mixed with doubt.
Ghost’s gaze snapped to hers, his expression hardening like stone. “Choices have consequences,” he said, his voice low but commanding, a warning that cut through the air between them.
The tension was cut short by Bravo 7-2’s urgent call. “All Bravo, we’ve got movement out here!”
The team quickly regrouped, weapons raised, and made their way to the warehouse. The large metal doors groaned as Soap pushed them open, revealing pitch-black darkness inside.
“Stay sharp,” Ghost ordered, his voice low but commanding.
They stepped in cautiously, their boots crunching against debris-strewn floors. The faint smell of oil and metal hung in the air. Y/N’s grip on her rifle tightened, her eyes scanning every shadow.
Suddenly, a series of bright lights blazed to life, blinding the team.
“Contact!” Ghost shouted as the warehouse erupted into chaos.
Gunfire burst from every direction as AQ soldiers emerged from hidden positions. Bullets ricocheted off metal walls, the deafening sound of the ambush overwhelming. Y/N dropped to one knee, her vision still adjusting, and returned fire, taking down two attackers with quick, precise shots.
“Cover! Find cover!” Soap yelled, diving behind a stack of crates and opening fire.
Y/N scrambled behind a steel column, her heart pounding. The AQ soldiers were relentless, pushing the team hard. Ghost’s voice cut through the comms, calm but firm.
“Soap, flank left! Falcon, with me—clear the center!”
“On it!” Y/N replied, her voice steady despite the chaos.
She moved in sync with Ghost, the two of them working as a seamless unit. Ghost provided suppressing fire as Y/N advanced, picking off enemies with deadly accuracy. The soldiers were well-trained, but their ambush had flaws. Y/N exploited their lack of coordination, taking out one after another with calculated shots.
An enemy darted toward her from the shadows, a knife glinting in his hand. Y/N reacted instinctively, sidestepping and slamming the butt of her rifle into his face. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
Across the room, Soap let out a triumphant shout. “Got ‘em on the run!”
The tide began to turn as the team pressed forward, clearing one section of the warehouse after another. The last of the AQ soldiers fell, and the room fell eerily silent, save for the team’s heavy breathing.
“Clear!” Soap called, his voice echoing in the vast space.
“Clear,” Y/N confirmed, scanning the room one final time.
Ghost’s voice was firm as he assessed the aftermath. “Good work. Let’s secure the area.”
As the team converged, the tension gave way to another discovery. In the far corner of the warehouse sat a series of large metal crate.
Her voice was low but sharp. “This… this doesn’t feel right.”
Ghost moved closer, his tone grim. “No, it’s not.”
Soap swore under his breath. “What the hell are they protecting here if Hassan’s gone?”
Y/N’s stomach churned as the reality of their discovery set in. “We’re about to find out.”
As the team moved circled the warehouse, finding any clues a discovery made the blood drain from Y/N’s face. The three entered the large blue metal crate only to be met with… missile controls, bearing English writing.
“What the hell” Soap says as he looks around.
“It’s all in English…,” Ghost muttered darkly.
“Ballistic Missiles” Ghost says as examines the room. “It’s a mobile launcher” Soap responds
“These’ll go a thousand miles,” Y/N whispered, her stomach twisting.
“At least,” Ghost confirmed grimly.
Soap cursed under his breath. “How the hell did Iran get their hands on this?” He says, as the two men exit the crate.
Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she stared at the missile controls, her mind racing. The discovery sent a cold chill through her veins. The implications were catastrophic. Hassan wasn’t just hiding here. He was orchestrating something much bigger, she thought, her gaze shifting from the missile controls to the other members of the team. They had stumbled upon something far beyond a simple terror cell.
Ghost’s voice came through her earpiece, low and deliberate, as if he could sense the same growing dread creeping through the team. “Bravo 7-6, get us through to Laswell. Now.”
“Roger. Stand by,” came Bravo 7-6’s reply, his voice calm but tense.
“This is Watcher-1, send traffic,” Laswell’s voice crackled through the comms, clear and sharp.
“Laswell, this is Ghost. We got something.” Ghost followed Soap as they circled the metal crate, both of them eyeing the missile perched above it. Soap climbed the plastic weapons crate for a better view, his eyes scanning for anything unusual.
“Ghost, tell me you found Hassan,” Laswell added, the urgency in her voice unmistakable.
“Ghost, take a look at this,” Soap’s voice was grim as he stepped aside, revealing an American symbol etched onto the missile. The sight made the air in the room grow thick with tension.
“Ghost, do you have Hassan?” Laswell’s voice came through again, a little more insistent this time.
Ghost looked up, his expression turning grim as he absorbed the gravity of the discovery. He responded with barely a pause. “Negative. We found a weapons cache. Hassan’s got missiles… they’re American.”
The comms crackled before General Shepherd’s voice cut through, cutting the tension like a knife. “Zero-Seven, this is Gold Eagle Actual. Repeat your last.”
Ghost stood still for a moment, his eyes scanning the crate once more before answering with unwavering clarity. “I’ll say again… Hassan’s got American missiles.” His voice was steady, but the weight of his words hung in the air, each syllable carrying the gravity of the situation.
She was still processing the situation at hand when General Shepherd’s voice cut through the comms, sharp and authoritative. “Gold Eagle Actual to Ghost—move your team and call for fire. I want those weapons destroyed.”
Y/N’s stomach twisted at the order. Destroy it? Everything they’d uncovered—American-made missiles in enemy hands, a lead that could unravel Hassan’s network—was about to go up in flames. The frustration boiled over, and before she could stop herself, she turned to Ghost, grabbing his arm.
“But sir,” she said urgently, her voice firm despite the chaos in her mind. “This is valuable intel. We’ve got proof right here! If we destroy this, we lose our chance to figure out where Hassan is. We lose answers!”
Ghost stopped mid-step, his gaze dropping to her hand gripping his arm before shifting to her face. His expression was unreadable, but his tone was sharp. “And if we leave it, they’ll use it. This isn’t leverage if it costs lives.”
Y/N’s grip tightened, her desperation spilling into her voice. “This could lead us to Hassan, Ghost. Isn’t that the bigger picture? We’ve been chasing ghosts—no pun intended—for weeks. This is our chance to get ahead of him!”
For a moment, his gaze softened, just enough to show he understood her frustration. But it vanished as quickly as it came. “The bigger picture,” he said evenly, “is making sure those missiles never see the light of day. We’ve got our orders, and orders don’t leave room for debate.”
She stared at him, heart pounding, unwilling to let go. Ghost’s tone shifted, quieter but no less firm. “Y/N, I get it. But this isn’t about what we want—it’s about what needs to be done.”
Y/N released his arm, her frustration tangible in the way her jaw clenched. “Understood,” she muttered, her voice tinged with bitterness.
“Good,” Ghost said curtly, turning back toward the cache. “Now, let’s finish this.”
“Roger that,” Ghost answers General Shepherd as he starts ordering the men to destroy the weapons cache.
The finality in his words hit her like a punch to the gut. Y/N couldn’t argue with that. The mission had gone sideways in too many ways, and now they were being forced to destroy the very thing that could unravel everything.
The team began to set up the explosives, moving with practiced efficiency, but Y/N remained still, her mind running in circles. Her eyes were fixed on the crate, still open in front of her, the missiles and their controls lying in front of her as though mocking her inability to do anything about it.
As the team prepared for the final stages of the mission, Ghost moved closer to her. His steps were quiet, but his presence felt heavier with each passing second.
She didn’t look at him as he stopped next to her, her gaze fixed on the intel right in front of her. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, but when he did, his voice was low, almost a whisper. “Snoop around with whatever you can find inside the crate while the others are distracted. Collect all the intel you can. This mission might be a bust, but that information could be a game-changer.”
Y/N glanced up at him, her frustration barely contained. His hand came down on her shoulder, a reassuring squeeze that felt almost out of place given the gravity of the situation. She met his eyes, but the tension between them was thick, unspoken, and heavy.
“Keep it discreet,” He says before walking over to help Soap move a large crate.
With a fueled determination, Y/N turned back to the crate. She wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip. Not when the stakes were this high.
She methodically began collecting every piece of information she could find—encrypted files, military documents, a set of coordinates that made her heart race. The intel was even more crucial than she had first realized. It was the key to understanding what Hassan had been up to and what the AQ forces were planning.
Y/N didn’t waste time.
She stuffed everything into her pockets, her movements quick and precise, her focus razor-sharp despite the chaos unfolding around her. With every document she gathered, the gravity of the situation pressed harder against her chest. This intel wasn’t just valuable—it was vital.
As she finished collecting the last of it, she stood up, the weight of the vest and pockets now resting heavily on her back. She glanced around, hearing the faint crackle of comms and the sound of distant explosions.
Ghost was from afar, watching her closely, his face unreadable as always. She met his gaze for a moment, her breath steadying. She could feel the tension in the air, but there was something else, something unspoken. She could feel it between them, this heavy weight, this understanding that neither of them had wanted to address.
The moment passed quickly, and Ghost stepped forward, inspecting her eyes. His voice was a low murmur. “Good work, Falcon.”
She nodded in response, but her mind was still reeling. She looked at the intel in her hands, her mind running through the possibilities. This could change everything—if they could get it back to Laswell, if they could make sure it didn’t fall into the wrong hands. The consequences were too big to ignore.
“We need to get this back to Laswell,” Ghost said, his tone softer now, though still carrying that same weight of authority. “Stay sharp.”
Y/N didn’t need to be told twice. She knew how important this moment was, how important the mission still was, despite the setbacks. She tucked the documents safely into her gear, ready to move out with the team.
The mission wasn’t over. It might have been a failure in some respects, but they still had a chance to turn it around. They had the intel. Now, all they had to do was make sure it got to the right hands before it was too late.
As they left the site, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that this mission was only the beginning. The real questions were just starting to surface, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to face them. But with Ghost and the team at her back, she knew she had no choice but to push forward. The stakes had never been higher.
-
The shooting range was dimly lit, the scent of gunpowder thick in the air. Y/N stood at the far end, her focus razor-sharp as she emptied her magazine into the target. Each shot was a desperate attempt to channel her frustration, but the tension in her chest refused to dissipate.
The mission had been a failure. Hassan had slipped through their fingers, and now the fallout loomed large. The discovery of American missiles in enemy hands made it worse—a complication that left her questioning every decision made that day.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she reloaded, the memory of the mission replaying on an endless loop in her mind.
She didn’t hear him at first-
“Your form’s off,” Ghost’s voice cut through the quiet, low and calm but carrying that edge that made her hackles rise.
Y/N turned sharply, glaring at him. “I don’t need your critiques right now, Ghost.”
He stepped closer, his movements deliberate. “I’m not critiquing. I’m pointing out the obvious—you’re not focused. Which is quiet dangerous for someone holding a gun”
Her grip on the pistol tightened, knuckles whitening. “I am focused. Maybe I just can’t let today’s mess slide like you can.”
Ghost’s gaze sharpened. He didn’t back off, his tall frame and quiet intensity filling the space between them. “You think this was easy for me?”
Y/N’s voice cracked under the weight of her anger. “We lost Hassan! We had one job—to get him—and now we’re dealing with a goddamn nightmare. This is on me. I should’ve pushed harder, fought for better options—”
Ghost stepped closer, cutting her off. “Stop.” His voice was low, commanding, but with an edge of something softer. “It wasn’t your call. It was mine.”
She shook her head, her frustration boiling over. “Doesn’t matter. I should’ve seen it coming, done something—”
“Enough,” Ghost said, his tone firm as he stepped into her space. “You’re blaming yourself for something that was out of your hands.”
Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but Ghost’s hands were suddenly on her arms, grounding her. His grip wasn’t harsh, but it was steady enough to make her pause. His eyes locked onto hers, his voice quieter now, deliberate.
“Listen to me, Y/N. We make the best call we can with the intel we’ve got. That’s all we can do. Blaming yourself won’t bring Hassan back, and it sure as hell won’t help us move forward.”
Her breath hitched. His touch, his closeness—it was too much and not enough all at once. She didn’t pull away, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze fully either. Her pulse thundered in her ears, the anger inside her colliding with an overwhelming vulnerability she didn’t want to face.
“I—” Her voice faltered, her words caught somewhere between defiance and defeat.
“Breathe,” Ghost said softly. His voice was almost a whisper now, but it carried the weight of a command.
“We’ll get another chance. But right now, you need to let this go.”
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The air between them was heavy, charged with unspoken emotions that neither seemed willing to address.
Finally, Ghost released her, stepping back with deliberate slowness. The space between them felt like a chasm, though the tension still clung to the air, thick and unresolved, suffocating in its silence.
Y/N fought to steady her breath, her pulse racing in a way that had nothing to do with the shooting. The intensity of the moment pressed in on her from all sides. She could still feel the heat of his hands, the weight of his presence like a heavy coat wrapped around her shoulders.
“Take a break,” Ghost said, his voice steady but carrying an undertone that made her pause, making her heart stutter. “Clear your head. You’ll need it for what’s coming next.”
“Thanks for the advice, Lieutenant,” Y/N grunted, her words cutting through the tension, though her voice was tighter than she intended. She turned away, desperate to put some distance between them, but it didn’t help. Her heart was beating louder now, faster than usual, and her fingers trembled as she picked up the gun she'd left behind.
She raised it to the target, trying to center her focus, but the tension in her chest wouldn’t fade. Every shot felt like a misplaced action, the weight of her failure pressing down harder with each pull of the trigger.
But Ghost didn’t move away.
She felt his gaze on her—sharp, calculating, like he was dissecting every inch of her stance, analyzing every shift in her body. She could almost feel the weight of his eyes boring into her back.
“You’re overcompensating,” he said suddenly, his voice low and cutting through the air like a blade. The weight of his scrutiny settled on her like a thick fog.
Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, her body instinctively stiffening as she glanced over her shoulder, startled.
The words, the presence—they hit her like a gut punch. “Excuse me?”
Ghost didn’t answer right away. Instead, he moved closer once more, each step measured, deliberate, his presence like a shadow that closed in, making her breath hitch. His proximity was suffocating.
Her fingers twitched around the rifle, but she refused to let her guard drop. She was too aware of him now, the tension between them palpable, suffocating.
His voice cut through the silence again, this time lower, almost too close. “You’re too tense. Your grip’s too tight. You’re not focused.”
Her chest tightened. She wasn’t sure if it was from the frustration or the growing awareness of how close he was. She didn’t need this right now—not this, not him, not the heat of his presence lingering in the space around her.
“I’m focused,” she shot back, her voice coming out harsher than she intended. She turned fully to face him, her stance defensive, as if bracing for something more.
Ghost’s gaze never wavered. He stepped even closer, until the space between them was almost nonexistent, his eyes never leaving hers, scrutinizing, analyzing. The air was thick, almost too thick to breathe.
“You think you can just muscle through this?” His voice dropped even lower, the gravel in it sending a shiver down her spine. “It doesn’t work like that.”
Her pulse was pounding in her ears now, every word, every movement magnified. His proximity made her feel exposed—vulnerable—and the tension between them was undeniable. His voice, his touch—everything about this was too much.
Y/N’s chest tightened, her grip on the rifle faltering for the briefest moment. Her breath caught, a flicker of hesitation crossing her mind before she steadied herself again. “I’m fine,” she muttered, her voice strained.
Ghost remained silent, but his gaze never left her. He reached forward, his gloved hand brushing against her arm once more, the contact sending an involuntary jolt through her.
"You're not fine," he said, his voice barely above a whisper now, but it was enough to unsettle her. "And you’re not listening.”
Y/N froze, her heart skipping a beat. Every part of her screamed to break the silence, to pull away, but something about the way he stood there, so close, so unwavering, kept her rooted in place.
"Relax," Ghost murmured, his voice soft but commanding, and she felt the pressure on her shoulder again, grounding her in the moment. "This isn’t a fight you win by forcing it."
His touch lingered too long, enough to make her heart race even faster. And for a brief, unbearable second, she was caught in the pull between wanting to step back and being drawn closer to him.
He released her finally, but the tension in the air didn’t dissipate. It hung between them, thick and unresolved.
Y/N exhaled sharply, trying to regain some composure, but she was still reeling from the exchange. She shifted uncomfortably, keeping her eyes away from him. “You always this hands-on with everyone?” she asked, her voice forced, trying to mask the discomfort she felt.
Ghost didn’t answer right away. His gaze was unreadable, his posture still tense. His lips barely twitched beneath the mask—half smirk, half something deeper, something harder to decipher.
“Only when they need it,” he finally said, his tone unreadable.
Before he left, he patted her back once more, his hand firm, deliberate. It lingered there for a moment too long, enough to make her skin prickle, enough to leave a lingering sense of unease.
“Keep practicing, Falcon,” he said, his voice steady, but the words left a strange weight hanging in the air. “You’ll get there.”
And with that, he turned, his footsteps fading, but the energy he left behind refused to dissipate.
Y/N’s grip on the rifle tightened again, her heart still thudding in her chest. She stood there for a long moment, feeling the weight of his absence just as much as his presence. Whatever had passed between them—it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
As the door closed behind him, she stood there, gripping the edge of the shooting stall for support. Whatever had just passed between them—it was far from over.