Chapter Text
Ghost pushed low hanging branches out of his way, careful to keep each step controlled and measured so as not to alert his presence. He was in a horrible position. Comms were down, no gun, no knives. Enemies on all sides. His only goal is to move.
The soft sound of snow being compressed under a foot alerts Ghost of company to his left. Using the thick trunk of a large oak tree as cover, he stays still and keeps his breath light and even. Deep breaths are too loud and holding his breath will only lead to an even louder inhale when his lungs give in. It’s a mistake trained out of rookies… one way or another. And Ghost is no rookie.
Whatever is by him moves quick and quiet, but not quiet enough. Ghost can make out the huffs and rustle of bare twigs barely clinging on to dead trees. As it gets closer, he is better able to hear the gait and it sounds off… but in a familiar way.
He shifts his head to the side slowly and is able to confirm what this creature is.
The doe keeps her steps light, not wanting to alert predators. Her neck is out and low, ears flicking every which way. When she passes the tree, her head snaps up and she goes rigid when her vigilant eyes catch Ghost’s black shape, stark against the white snow-covered wilderness.
He keeps still, trying his best to appear non-threatening. She shouldn’t have to be scared in her home, especially where he is the intruder.
All senses are trained on him. The large ears swiveled towards him, the small nose inhaling his scent and exhaling a warm puff that clouds in the air, the dark black eyes reflecting his figure back at him.
They stand in a stalemate for a while until one of her ears flicks to the side and she quickly turns to dart away, gracefully dodging branches as she leaves the vicinity.
Ghost mourns the loss of the beautiful creature, but doesn’t dwell on it when he hears the mechanical click of a gun cocking behind him. He’s given a command to put his hands up. He begrudgingly complies and once he hears that crunch of snow signaling the enemy moving closer, he kicks his leg slightly out and back, twisting to the side at the same time so the momentum adds more force to the kick. He knocks the rifle to the side with his palm so the muzzle is no longer pointed at him before wrapping his fingers around it and tugging, pulling the enemy into his foot.
The man had a loose grip on the weapon and didn’t pull the trigger, thankfully, so it took almost no effort for Ghost to wrangle the rifle away and for the man to drop to the snow with a pained grunt. Ghost brings the gun up, pointed at the man, and watches him struggle to sit upright.
When he finally looks up at Ghost, he has to hide his surprise. This man…thing… has no face. Just a smooth plane where facial features would normally sit. The hair on his arms and neck stand up.
The faceless enemy tilted its head, just observing Ghost. A low clicking sound emanated from the creature, reminding Ghost of someone tapping on hollow wood.
Thump-ump
Thump-ump
Thump-ump
A responding call came from somewhere in the distance behind him, and when he turned to follow the sound with his eyes, the creature before him made a high-pitched, wet screech before lunging forward to tackle Ghost.
He turned back just in time to raise the rifle, but when he pulled the trigger, nothing happened. A rookie might have frozen, finger still twitching, but Ghost quickly adapted, readjusting his grip to swing the gun around and slam the stock of the rifle against the head of this thing. It barely deterred his enemy, who pushed forward.
Ghost was knocked to the ground, feeling the hard earth meet his back, roughly expelling the air from his lungs. The creature scrambled on top of him and something sharp like knives sliced through into his sides. He groaned in pain as his skin ripped apart like butter, hot blood drenching his clothes, but he kept trying to dislodge the thing.
The creature went for his neck and Ghost brought the rifle up, holding it parallel, and pressed it against the thing’s own neck to act as a temporary barrier. Dark hands swiped at him, but the rifle made Ghost’s vitals just mere inches out of arm's reach.
Ghost was able to see his own blood drip off the ends of curved, serrated talons that cut through the air.
In the midst of keeping this thing back, he was looking for an opening, and when he finally got his opportunity, he took it. He slammed his knee into the gut of the thing and in the split second it curled into itself, he once again used the gun to bash against its head. Ghost thrusted up with his hips and flung the thing off of him.
He wasted no time flipping to his front and pushing onto his hands and feet while also using the momentum to climb forward. But as he scrambled up, the blinding pain of claws hooking through his Achilles’ tendon stopped him and he was dragged back down to the cold earth.
Ghost fell with a strangled yell and was pulled, his gloved hands digging relentlessly into the snow for leverage that didn’t exist.
His breathing was too quick, his heartbeat even quicker. Ghost struggled to swallow past the lump in his throat as helplessness choked him.
The snow melted beneath him to reveal smooth dirty-white ceramic tiles that slipped under his finger tips.
A rough, calloused hand that Simon knows too well dug into the back of his neck and yanked Simon upwards, bringing him to his knees for a second before dragging him down and back so that his legs were in front of him. The hand readjusted slightly, fingers digging into the side of his throat, pressing on his pulse point, and he continued to be pulled further.
Simon couldn’t help the wince, but bit down on the groan of pain that threatened to escape, knowing better than to allow any sound that indicated he was hurt out. That didn’t stop him from reaching back and scratching fruitlessly at the wrist of his attacker, bare nails drawing blood.
The bruising grip didn’t relent, just kept pulling Simon across the tile. He kicked his legs out, trying to stop himself from meeting his destination but eventually the hand forced his head, and thus his body, to flip and he was pushed down, hovering over a bathtub filled with water.
“How many times do we have to do this, Simon?” A rough voice ruined by years of smoking sneered in his ear.
Simon was slammed down, head held under the surface of cold water that sent a shock through his system for a couple seconds before being pulled back up. He coughed, trying to expel the water from his throat and nose. Simon could feel a painful burn in his brow from where the water rushed into his nasal cavities. A warm heat fell over his back as the man moved closer, squeezing tighter as he sneered, “I don’t understand why you don’t understand. Your brother gets it. If you would just learn to behave like a good boy, we wouldn’t have to keep doing this.”
On the last word, Simon’s head was once again shoved under the sloshing water and kept there. He pushed against the lip of the tub to try and force himself back out, but his hands kept sliding off the wet surface.
Simon held his breath as long as he could, but the pounding in his head that threatened to explode was making that difficult. He thrashed back and forth, the water going cloudy with bubbles and chaotic currents but the grip above him was too strong. Simon was never able to escape that hand before, why did he think he could now?
Eventually, but inevitably, his brain stopped listening to his command to keep the water out as his need for oxygen won. His lungs burned as water rushed in, filling every orifice, and no matter what he did, he couldn’t expel it. The hand remained unwavering, keeping him under.
As darkness quickly creeped from the edges of his vision, Simon let out a muffled scream of anguish and frustration, bubbles billowing out of his mouth and clouding the water.
His body grew heavy and his limbs stopped cooperating, sagging against the cool tile. A couple final bubbles left his mouth as the darkness completely took over.