Part 1 ; Part 2.
TW: abuse, brief mention of SA and torture.
Simon Riley x Reader
The Interpreter's prayer.
Part 3
Arabic murmurs seeped through the haze of your fractured thoughts, pulling you back to the grim reality that surrounded you. Their voices were sharp, unguarded, filled with a confidence born of believing you didn’t understand them. Nasir and his men, too careless or too arrogant, discussed their plans openly, their words slicing through the suffocating silence like knives.
They didn’t know. They thought you were just another helpless captive—ignorant of their language, stripped of power. But they underestimated you, as so many others had before. Still, knowing their plans was cold comfort when you were shackled to this nightmare.
The days had blurred together into a meaningless stretch of darkness and pain. Time had no meaning here, wherever here was. You’d stopped counting hours, stopped praying for deliverance. God’s presence felt like a distant memory, a cruel lie whispered into the ears of the desperate. Why would He allow this? Why would He watch you suffer in silence and do nothing?
You shifted on the cold, hard floor where they had left you, your body screaming in protest with every slight movement. The remnants of their latest torment clung to you, a grotesque reminder of their cruelty. You didn’t even remember how it started this time. You’d slipped away from it all, your mind retreating into a void where the pain couldn’t reach. But the aftermath was undeniable.
Warm rivulets of fresh blood trailed down your thighs, mingling with the dark, dried stains that already marked your skin. The metallic scent filled your nostrils, a constant reminder of what they had done—what they continued to do. You stared blankly at the ground, swallowing the bile that threatened to rise in your throat.
The words filtered through your mind, unbidden, your brain piecing together their meaning before you even had time to process the weight of them. "Brainless foreign woman. We've got no use for her. Get rid of her."
You bit down on the swell of panic rising in your chest, forcing it into submission. Nasir’s hand moved in a sharp gesture, summoning two of his men to carry out his order. His back was already turning, his attention shifting away from you like you were little more than a discarded piece of debris.
But you weren’t debris.
Your tongue shaped words, each laced with defiance and desperation. “Get me a radio... I’ll make them bring your wife back.”
Nasir froze mid-step, his posture rigid. Slowly, he turned, his sharp, predatory eyes locking onto you. His gaze raked over your battered form, the amusement flickering in them growing darker. Seconds stretched into an eternity before a cruel smirk twisted his lips, cruel and razor-sharp.
“So she does speak,” he drawled, switching to English, each word dripping with disdain. He spat the language like venom.
You held his gaze, refusing to flinch. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to look away, to shrink under the weight of his stare, but you didn’t. You couldn’t afford to. His smirk deepened as if he could sense the fight simmering beneath your bruised exterior.
The room seemed to hold its breath, the tension so thick it felt like the air itself was choking you. But you didn’t back down. Not now. Not when the slightest hesitation could mean the end. You’d thrown the dice; now you had to play the hand you’d dealt yourself.
Nasir’s hand moved in another sharp gesture, and one of his men stepped forward. Without hesitation, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you to your feet. A sharp cry escaped your lips before you could swallow it, the searing pain pulling you back into the present like a jolt of electricity.
Your legs threatened to give out beneath you, weak from exhaustion and abuse, but the man didn’t care. His grip on your hair remained firm, dragging you forward when your body refused to cooperate. The rough tug sent shocks of pain through your scalp, but you forced yourself to focus on something else—anything else.
The hallway lights were harsh, their brightness stabbing into your eyes like needles after so long in darkness. You squinted, blinking rapidly, trying to adjust. You couldn’t afford to shut them out. This was your first chance to see where you were, to gather clues about this hellhole.
With every stumbling step, you forced yourself to take note of your surroundings.
The cracked tiles on the floor, the peeling paint on the walls. Each detail mattered. You counted the doors you passed, marking their placement in your mind. You memorized the faces of the men stationed along the hall, their weapons slung over shoulders or resting in idle hands.
The air was thick with the stench of sweat and cigarette smoke, and faint echoes of distant voices carried through the corridors. Every sensation, every observation, was a thread to hold onto, a piece of the puzzle you might use later.
Nasir walked ahead, his strides confident, purposeful. He didn’t bother to look back at you, not once. His arrogance was palpable, but you wouldn’t let it distract you. Your focus was sharper now, honed by the adrenaline that began to creep into your veins.
They dragged you into a room that reeked of stale sweat and the metallic tang of old electronics. The dim overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting uneven shadows over the walls lined with monitors and radio equipment. As your captor hauled you inside, the room’s layout struck a familiar chord, and then it hit you—hard.
You’d seen this before. Not in person, but in the blueprints Simon had shown you during the mission briefing. His voice echoed in your memory, calm and steady as he walked you through every detail the Task Force had on Nasir and his operation.
Back then, you hadn’t given it much thought. It had felt abstract, just another room on a map, a detail that didn’t seem important. But now, your mind clawed through those fragments, dragging them to the surface.
This was the control room. A nerve center for Nasir’s operation.
The realization sent a shiver down your spine, though you masked it behind a grimace as the man finally released his grip on your hair. He shoved you into a chair with little care, and for a fleeting moment, you felt something absurdly close to gratitude. After hours—days?—of being curled up on the cold, hard floor, this was almost… comfortable.
You almost wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. This chair, this simple, mundane piece of furniture, felt like a luxury compared to the hell you’d endured. But you didn’t laugh. You couldn’t. Instead, you leaned back slightly, letting the brief reprieve settle over your battered body while your mind worked furiously.
The screens flickered with grainy images, feeds from cameras scattered across whatever compound you were in.
Men moved about in the footage, armed and oblivious. Wires snaked across the floor, leading to radios and consoles humming with life. Your eyes scanned everything, taking in as much as you could while Nasir’s men loomed nearby.
You shifted slightly in the chair, your body aching with every movement, but you forced yourself to focus. If there was ever a moment to turn what Simon had taught you into something real, it was now. You weren’t out of the fight yet.
The radio was shoved in front of you, its battered frame a lifeline and a trap all at once. A cold barrel pressed against your temple, its unyielding presence a harsh reminder of the stakes.
“This is your chance to prove your worth, woman,” Nasir growled, his broken English slicing through the tension. His disdain for your language was evident in every syllable, as though each word tasted bitter in his mouth.
One of his men muttered something in Arabic, a cautious warning about the risk of you sending a hidden message to your team. Nasir dismissed the concern with a bark of laughter, his arrogance cutting sharper than the gun. “She’s too dumb for something like that.”
Your hands hesitated, trembling as they hovered over the radio. The weight of your decision bore down on you, but Simon’s voice—his calm, unyielding presence—flashed in your mind. You remembered the frequency, the one he’d drilled into your brain as if he knew this moment might come. With a deep breath, you turned the dial and clicked the button.
Silence. Your throat tightened, the words caught somewhere between defiance and despair. The barrel pressed harder against your temple, snapping you back.
“This is Firecracker,” you whispered, the name tasting strange on your tongue. You had sworn to Simon you’d never use the ridiculous codename he’d given you. But here you were, spitting it out like a lifeline.
Static hissed, and for a moment, the world held its breath. Then, his voice. Calm but cracked with worry. “Ghost.” Just one word, but you could hear everything he wasn’t saying in that single breath.
You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to steady. “Nasir’s willing to do a trade. Me for the wife.” The words nearly broke you, but you bit them back, holding your composure more for Simon’s sake than your own.
Nasir shoved a piece of paper into your hands, coordinates scrawled across it. You scanned it quickly, the numbers locking in your memory. You were about to read them out when a sharp phrase in Arabic caught your ear.
Your heart sank. They thought you didn’t understand, but you caught every word. It was a trap. The location was rigged, designed to leave you—and anyone who came for you—dead. A sick twist of cruelty, leaving Mia without either of her parents.
Your mind raced. You couldn’t let Simon walk into this. You couldn’t let him trade his life for yours. Your gaze darted to the monitors, the grainy images showing Nasir’s men stationed around the compound like a grotesque chessboard.
Then it came to you—a desperate hope.
You clicked the button again, your voice low and fast. “Remember that story Mia loved? The one about the monkeys and the bananas.” Your eyes flickered to the screens, marking the positions of the guards. “It’s just like that.”
You prayed Simon would recall the story, a children’s tale Mia had adored, where monkeys guarded a pile of bananas in strategic positions. It was a crude analogy, but you hoped it was enough to warn him without tipping Nasir off.
Your voice faltered when you heard the unmistakable click of a safety being disengaged. Panic surged, but you forced yourself to stay calm, spitting out the coordinates Nasir had given you. The words barely left your lips before the radio was ripped from your hands.
Your heart hammered in your chest as you stared at the screens, silently begging Simon to understand. You had no way of knowing if he would piece it together, but you had no choice but to believe in him.
After that you were tossed back into that dark, cold room.
The cold room wrapped around you like a shroud, darkness pressing against your skin. You sank into it, trying to imagine a different reality—one where you were back home, tangled in the sheets of your bed. You could almost feel the tug of the blanket as Mia giggled, wrestling with Simon for her share. The memory brought a flicker of warmth before reality dragged you back down.
Time crawled by, each second bleeding into the next until you lost track of it altogether. Minutes? Hours? You didn’t know.
Then the silence shattered.
Loud thuds reverberated through the walls, followed by shouts and gunfire. The sounds grew closer, chaos spilling into the corridors beyond the door. You barely had time to process what was happening when the door burst open.
The man who stepped inside made your stomach churn. He was the worst of them all—the one who had taken the most from you, leaving scars deeper than anything physical. His strides were purposeful, his face twisted in something between arrogance and unease.
Before you could react, his hand clamped around your forearm, jerking you to your feet. You winced as his grip bruised your already battered skin. His fingers brushed through your hair, a mockery of tenderness that sent bile rising in your throat.
“Such a pretty thing,” he sneered, his voice low and oily. “Too bad I have to finish you.” But there was something off in his tone—a flicker of fear he couldn’t quite hide.
The chaos outside continued, shouting and gunfire ringing out like a storm. The man pulled out his gun, the cold barrel pressing into your ribs. Your body tensed, but before he could make his move, a voice cut through the noise, sharp and commanding.
“Let her go.”
The man froze, and so did you. His grip tightened as he turned, dragging you with him to face the door. Your heart stopped when your eyes landed on the figure standing there. The skull mask was unmistakable. Simon.
Tears blurred your vision, rolling freely down your cheeks. You wanted to run to him, to throw yourself into his arms, but the man’s bruising hold kept you rooted in place. The gun pressed harder into your ribs, but you barely felt it. All you could see was Simon.
“I said,” Simon’s voice was lower now, like a growl ripped straight from his chest, “let go of my wife.” The fury in his tone was palpable, vibrating through the air like a thunderclap.
The man behind you let out a cruel chuckle, shifting slightly to keep you between him and Simon. “A wife?” he mocked, his voice dripping with venom. He pressed the barrel harder into your side, making you wince. “Ah, this pretty thing? Don’t think she’s gonna be much of a wife now... Whore? Yeah. Wife? Not really.”
His words were meant to cut, to provoke, but Simon didn’t flinch. His fingers clenched tighter around the gun, the rage simmering just below the surface of his calm façade. You could see it in the tension of his shoulders, the way his entire body seemed coiled, ready to strike.
The sound of the gunshot was deafening, a sharp crack that sliced through the tense silence. For a fleeting moment, your mind couldn’t process who had fired it, who had made the shot. But then, you felt the man’s grip on your arm loosen, the pressure on your ribs vanishing as he crumpled to the floor with a thud.
The room spun, the sudden release of tension leaving you unsteady. You fell to your knees beside him, your body too weak to stay upright. Your vision blurred, and you couldn’t tell if it was the tears streaming down your face or the fear that still gripped your chest, but the world around you wavered.
The world faded, and you let the silence pull you under.
Part 4