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codenamereaper · 19 days ago

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The Ghost & The Reaper

Summary: She’s the blade in the dark. He’s the shadow that never misses. Working side by side, they move like one—but keeping their distance is harder than staying alive.

Warnings & tags: Ghost x OFC, slow burn, friends (colleagues?) to lovers, mutual pining, angst, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, childhood trauma (& trauma bonding), multiple POV

Read on AO3

Chapter One

Ghost

The first thing I noticed about her was how small she was.

Not scrawny, just lean. Built for speed. Fast and deadly, if Price had picked her. But still—small. Smaller than anyone else in the 141. My first instinct was skepticism. My second? Caution.

Right before the briefing, Price pulled me aside. His expression was neutral, but I know him well enough to see the weight behind his words. His mind was already made up.

"You’ll be working with Reaper on this one."

"Who?"

I hadn’t even looked at her yet. Just kept my focus on Price, waiting for him to justify dropping an unknown into my op.

"She’s good," was all he said, like it’s supposed to be enough. Like it even means something.

It doesn’t.

No full name. No credentials. No file. Just a single assurance and the unwavering look of a man who knew I’d push back and wasn’t in the mood for it.

I’ve seen too many green operatives fold under pressure. Didn’t need another liability.

I turned my head then, finally sizing her up.

She was quiet. Didn’t waver under my stare. Didn’t offer a handshake either. Just nodded at me, arms crossed but relaxed. Unbothered. Like I’m the one who needed to impress her.

She didn’t try for small talk. I respect that.

Her gear was dark, tight, methodical—no excess weight, no unnecessary bullshit. Her knife, strapped to her thigh, looked well-worn.

She wasn’t trying to impress me. Wasn’t posturing. She just stood there, waiting. Sharp green eyes beneath long dark lashes, watching me like she was already evaluating my worth as much as I was hers.

"You sure about this, Cap?"

"You’ll see."

I don’t trust new faces. Not in this job, when one wrong move gets people killed. And I sure as hell don’t trust someone I have never even heard of—if she was worth a damn, I would have.

But I trust Price. If he says she's good, it means he saw something in her.

We get briefed—standard breach-and-clear, target is holed up in a compound on the outskirts of town. Intel suggests a small crew of mercs, well-armed, but nothing we can’t handle. Just me and Reaper, boots on the ground going in, Price on overwatch. Simple.

During the brief, I watch her from the corner of my eye. She doesn’t fidget, doesn’t interrupt, just absorbs the information with a slight crease between her brows from concentrating too hard. Her eyes scan the maps like she’s memorizing every detail. I can tell she’s already trying to find weak spots and the best ways in and out.

When Price outlines the plan, she doesn’t question it. Doesn’t even look at me. She only asks about rules of engagement like she’s already mentally there, running the op in her head.

Focused.

I know, because it’s the same thing I always do as well.

Most operators—new ones, at least—try to gauge where they stand with me. Try to impress, seek approval, prove they belong. Often try too hard. She didn’t, not once.

We’re perched high on a ridge now, eyes locked on the distant glow of the compound. Below us, guards patrol in staggered rotations—disciplined, but predictable.

The freezing wind cuts like daggers where it touches exposed skin. I have my mask, protecting most of my face. She has to make do with a bandana she had strapped to her thigh.

Resourceful.

I expected to spend the first few minutes watching her, gauging how she moves, where she hesitates, if she hesitates. Expected her to make a mistake, to get ahead of herself, expected I’d have to correct her. Tell her to stay close, watch her corners or her six, keep up.

I don’t expect her to move like she already knows what I’m thinking.

She’s fast, but every movement is deliberate, controlled. There’s no second-guessing, no fumbling.

Our comms—dead silent. I noticed as soon as we landed that no words seemed to be necessary for us to communicate.

I gesture once. She nods. We move.

Slipping through the treeline, we hit the perimeter in tandem. A sentry rounds the corner—one quick movement, and Reaper has her knife buried under his jaw, her other hand clamped over his mouth. He goes limp, gets dragged into the shadows before his body even has time to fall. Silent.

Clean.

She keeps moving without hesitation. Doesn’t look at me, doesn’t wait for praise or acknowledgement. Just steps over the body and keeps going like it was nothing. Keeps moving like she knows I’ll be right behind her.

A side entrance looms ahead, guarded by two men. She motions to me—take the left. I don’t argue. As soon as I get into position, she makes the first move. A pebble flicked against the far wall, just enough to draw their attention.

A beat. They turn.

Then we strike.

She’s a shadow, fast and precise. Her blade finds its mark in the first guard’s throat before he could even exhale. I take the second, arm locking around his neck in a crushing chokehold. His struggles fade in seconds.

The door is clear.

I glance at her, and she’s already waiting for me to move forward.

I exhale through my nose. Alright, then.

We breach.

The compound is a maze of cold steel and concrete, corridors twisting into deeper darkness.

We move in sync—two shadows weaving through the halls, anticipating each other’s next step like we’d done this a hundred times before. She takes low, I take high. I cover her blind spots; she covers mine.

When a guard rounds a corner ahead, I barely have time to react before she puts a suppressed round through his temple. The body slumps against the wall with a muffled sound.

We breach the first room together. She’s inside before I finish pulling the trigger on my first target. She doesn’t hesitate—just moves, weaving past me in a blur, leaving a trail of bodies behind.

Fast.

I clear my side, expect to turn and find her finishing up hers. But she’s already looking at me. Waiting. Like she knew exactly how fast I’d be. Like she matched her pace to mine without thinking.

She starts assessing the next door before I even call it.

I push forward, falling into step beside her. Next room I move right, she moves left. No words exchanged, just instinct.

It’s like she already knows exactly where I’ll be before I even move. We keep going at the same pace, clear our side of the room at the same time. She covers my blind spots before I register they’re open.

It’s unsettling.

And impressive.

Her breathing remains controlled, measured, her eyes focused, and that same crease of focus is still there between her brows. She floats through the halls, boots barely more than a whisper against the floor. If I weren’t watching her, I’d hardly know she was there.

Reaper stops ahead, body low against the corner, her head tilting slightly like she’s listening for something. I shift to take a step forward. Without looking back, she reaches out and touches my arm—a silent signal to stop.

I flinch. Wasn’t expecting it.

It’s not much. A twitch, a barely-there recoil. Muscle memory from years of people reaching, and me pulling away.

But she notices.

Her hand is gone instantly. No hesitation. No frown, no question, no ‘why the fuck did you do that?’ Just immediate adjustment, like she’d filed the information away without needing to say anything.

I exhale slowly, shaking it off. It wasn’t her fault.

I don’t like being touched. Not like that. Not unexpectedly or by someone I don’t trust. My instinct is always to react, even if I can mask it and not show it outright.

I catch a glimpse of her in my periphery, moving with a quiet, practiced efficiency. One step ahead, never out of sync. Nothing but a shadow beside me.

Another guard rounds a corner ahead. I see him the same moment she does. I raise my rifle, but before I can fire, she signals with her hand, already moving. A flicker of motion, the glint of a blade—and the man crumples, soundless.

She doesn’t break stride. Just wipes the blood off on his sleeve and moves on.

The halls are dim, shadows stretching long beneath flickering overhead lights. The air smells like damp concrete and cigarette smoke. From deeper inside, I can hear the occasional murmur of voices and radio chatter—guards on rotation, unaware their numbers were thinning by the second.

Her rifle is silent, her blade quicker than a breath. She cuts down guards before they even know she’s there.

Lethal.

I don’t trust easily. Don’t like new teammates. But I’ve been doing this long enough to know when someone’s good. And Reaper?

Price was right. She’s good.

We move through the compound like that—quick, quiet, coordinated. No missteps. No wasted motion. Price’s voice crackles in my ear from time to time, but he barely has to say anything other than count the tangos through the windows.

We don’t need directions.

The deeper we go, the heavier the air feels. Vashkov’s office is at the heart of the compound. That means more guards, tighter security.

Doesn’t matter.

We clear the last room together. I take down one guard, she takes down the other. Smooth. Effortless.

One by one, they drop. No alarms. No loud gunfire. Just cold efficiency until we reach the last corridor before our target. We hit the last corner. Vashkov’s office was just beyond.

“Two guards inside, standing by the door. HVT sitting at his desk,” Price says in our ears. “Maybe a third guard in my blind spot, be careful.”

I make sure our six is covered and let her take point. We left no loose ends on this wing, but there are still others out there that could surprise us.

She peeks around the corner. I glance behind us.

Boots shuffling against the concrete, not too far from us in the corridor ahead, then footsteps. Approaching.

There's a split second there where I register that I expected the same light contact as before, the same signal. But it never came. Instead, she just adapted.

I hear a soft sound that draws my attention to her. She’s watching me, two fingers extended against the side of her gun. Taps again, nods left—Stop. Two guards, I’ll take the left one.

If anyone asks me how I know that’s what she meant, I couldn’t tell them. I just know, like we’d been doing this together for years.

I give her a short nod. Barely anything. But she catches it anyway, and moves forward.

We cut through them like ghosts, before they can even register what’s happening.

Again, she’s fast—quicker than I expect. By the time I have my target in a chokehold, hers is already slumping. Throat cut with surgical precision, blood pooling on the floor. No wasted movement, no theatrics.

The guard in my grip thrashes for all of two seconds before going still. I lower his body to the floor silently to avoid alerting the guards inside the office.

Reaper has already wiped her blade clean on the sleeve of the man she dropped. She’s checking his pockets, fingers searching with practiced efficiency. After a few seconds, she pulls out a keycard. Holds it up between two fingers, glancing at the double doors ahead.

She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t have to.

Vashkov’s door is locked. She just made sure that’s not going to be a problem.

Smart.

I’m still thinking about her signal as we stack at the office door. She didn’t touch me this time.

Most people in our line of work are not that quick to adjust. They either ignore reactions like that because they don’t give a fuck or ask too many damn questions because they feel entitled to that information. But she just figured it out and adjusted. Saw something once, and learned from it. No fuss, just action.

Didn’t pry. Didn’t push. Didn’t need to be told twice. She didn’t even think about it, just found another way to communicate efficiently.

It’s a small thing, but it stands out. Tells me more about her than anything else.

She learns fast, and she’s observant. Not just in the way all good operators are—scanning perimeters, reading threats, noticing the smallest details that could make an op go sideways. She watches people, too. Reads them. Understands them. Remembers.

It’s rarer than one would think.

Reaper shifts, checking her ammo, blade between her teeth. There’s blood under her nails and on her sleeves, in the creases of her hands. She doesn’t seem to care. There are no wasted movements with her. No nervous ticks. Just calm readiness.

I feel the corner of my mouth twitch.

For the first time, I consider the possibility that Price has actually undersold her. She’s not just good. She’s my level of good.

I raise my weapon, exhale slow. She swipes the keycard and the lock on Vashkov’s door beeps green.

I shoulder the door open, immediately shoot the guy to my right. I notice a moment too late that I didn’t even worry about the one behind me—I knew Reaper would be on him before I even turned.

Huh.

With both guards down, there’s only the HVT left inside, hunched over his desk.

Reaper moves. She’s on him in a heartbeat, hand fisting in his collar, yanking him back with the knife pressed against his throat.

He barely had time to gasp.

I close the door behind us, keeping my weapon trained on him as he struggles against Reaper’s grip. He seems to be in his late fifties, gray threading through his dark hair, but there’s no weakness in him. His eyes are sharp, calculating even as his breath hitches against the press of Reaper’s blade.

"Mikhail Vashkov." Reaper’s voice is calm. Even.

Vashkov’s hands twitch. His fingers flex once, like he was debating making a move.

Bad idea.

Reaper’s knife presses harder against his throat, just enough for a thin line of blood to bead along the edge.

He stills. But there's a flicker of defiance in his eyes. His mouth curls into something almost amused. Arrogant bastard.

"You don’t know who you’re fucking with, girl," he rasps. His accent is thick, but his English is good.

Reaper doesn’t take the bait.

"Where are the SSDs?" I demand.

He gives a slow exhale, lips pressing into a smirk.

"Burned," he says. "Gone. You are too late."

Reaper shifts her grip. Her knife moves—just a little. Just enough for the tip to press into the soft skin beneath his jaw. Another drop of blood runs down the expanse of his neck. "Try again."

Vashkov sucks in a sharp breath, and his amusement flickers into something else. Pain. Fear.

"You won’t make it out," he spits, trying to hold onto his bravado. "We have men coming."

Reaper leans in slightly, voice dropping to a murmur. "Then we’d better make this quick, hm?"

I watch his throat work. He’s stalling, hoping his guards will notice something is off and come storming in.

Not gonna happen.

"Give us what we came for, or I let her start cutting until you do."

His smirk vanishes. Reaper doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Just keeps the blade steady, waiting.

The bastard’s confidence cracks.

"Bottom drawer," he rasps. "Safe."

Reaper moves, yanking the drawer open while I press my rifle to Vashkov’s temple, just to keep him in line. Inside, there’s a small steel safe, keypad locked.

I press the muzzle harder against his head. "Code."

"2-7-9-4," he mutters.

Reaper keys it in and the safe clicks open.

SSDs, flash drives, burner phones. Reaper grabs everything, shoving it into her pack.

Vashkov’s breathing quickens. His hands clench into weak fists. "I cooperated, didn’t I?" he hisses. "Let me go now."

Reaper rises, shouldering her backpack to meet his eyes again. "Since you like secrets so much," she murmurs, "let me tell you one of mine."

His breath hitches.

"I don’t leave loose ends."

Before he even processes what she meant, her blade is already gliding through his neck from one side to the other.

Blood pours between his fingers as he claws at the wound, choking on it with a wet gargle. He’s still clinging to life while she wipes the blade on Vashkov’s jacket.

“Got everything,” she says, meeting my gaze with an unreadable expression. “Let’s go.”

He collapses against the desk as she steps away. I follow her into the empty hall outside, body twitching for the last time behind us.

We slip into the shadows before anyone notices something’s wrong. My mind is already working ahead—exfil, fastest route, enemy patrols.

Reaper moves beside me, quiet as death itself.

I risk a glance at her. She’s calm. Steady. Just as sharp as when we first stepped into this place. She’s not shaken. But she’s not gloating either.

The extraction point was less than five hundred meters from the compound’s perimeter. We just had to make it past the outer courtyard, slip through the trees, and disappear into the night.

It should’ve been simple. But it wasn’t.

The moment we hit the final corridor, I hear it—the radio chatter.

At first, just a faint murmur, static-laced Russian coming through someone’s headset. Then the footsteps. Multiple sets, moving fast.

Reaper heard it too. Her body tenses for a second, then relaxes. Thinking. Calculating.

"Might have a problem," I murmur into our comms.

"Talk to me," Price’s voice crackles through.

The guards are closing in. Too many. If we run for the exit, we get spotted. If we stay put, we get cornered.

Suddenly, Reaper moves, backtracks to a side room where we left two bodies cooling on the floor. I follow, shutting the door just as the patrol rounds the corridor.

Through the crack, I see them—Six guards, heavily armed. Four men, two women. Not just standard grunts. These are reinforcements.

They’re not panicking. They’re hunting.

“Ghost,” Price presses.

My grip tightens on my rifle. We can take them. Wouldn’t be clean, but we could do it.

I hear Reaper shuffling behind me, followed by the crackle of a radio she just picked up from one of the bodies.

Then she speaks into the radio—in Russian. I hear her voice coming through the radios on the guards outside. There’s a beat of silence.

And they move away.

I give her a look. “What the fuck did you just do?”

She shrugs. “Just told them I saw something on the other side of the compound and needed reinforcements.”

“You speak bloody Russian?”

“You wanna waste time making a list of all my skills or you wanna get the fuck outta here?”

She doesn’t wait for me to reply. Just pushes past me into the hallway, now empty. Thanks to her.

I sigh through my nose. Then I follow her.

“Nevermind,” I tell Price. “We’re coming out now.”

As soon as the trees swallow us, I tell Price we’re on our way to him. We don’t stop until we reach the designated rendezvous point.

He’s crouched behind cover, rifle up. “Thought you two might’ve decided to stay,” he mutters, keeping his eyes on the tree line.

“Missed your charming company too much, Captain,” Reaper says dryly.

Price snorts but doesn’t argue.

Minutes later, the helo arrives, kicking up dust as it settles. We board without a word, Price taking the seat opposite me, Reaper settling to my left. The hum of the rotors drowns out everything else for a while.

I glance at Reaper. She’s not smiling. There’s no cocky quip, no self-congratulations. She’s not waiting for a pat on the back. She’s just sitting there, calmly checking her gear like she’d known the whole time we’d make it out.

Most first-time ops with a new partner came with hesitation. Adjustments. A learning curve.

Not this time. Not with her.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

She doesn’t have the look of someone new. There’s something in her eyes, something weighty. Like she’s seen things. Done things.

I'm not sure what to make of that yet.

I still don’t trust her. Not yet. But I won’t be watching her six because I have to. I’ll do it because I know she’s already watching mine.

Price exhales, glancing between the two of us, then finally speaks, voice low.

“Well?” he asks, watching me. “What do you think?”

I take a moment. Then shrug. “She didn’t slow me down.”

Reaper snorts. “Let me guess. That’s the nicest thing he’s ever said about anyone, isn’t it?”

Price smirks. “Pretty much.”

I give a halfhearted grunt and shake my head, looking away. Then I mutter, “Soap’s gonna love her.”

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pattern-recognition · 3 months ago

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official predictions for 2025, drawn up by the brightest minds at Pattern-Recognition™️ think tank HQ:

joe biden dies and some authority (media or political) attempts to encourage a period of national mourning, like for the queen, but it’s shot down and nobody gives a shit

the word “futanari” is used on either CNN or FOX news

acid rain becomes a hot button marketing term for cosmetics and fashion. the former will be revealed to contain rat poison and the latter will be made of petroleum based fabrics

Guinnness shortage

some hero shooter like overwatch/valorant/that marvel slop is going to add an Israeli character that’ll make Negev from GFL look like an al-Qassam militant

more women in terrorism but for all the wrong reasons

a publicity photo of trump holding a rifle aloft like that one picture of Saddam Hussein and every vestigial war hawk liberal is going to piss blood

despite his posturing on the 2nd Amendment, ammo costs are only going to keep rising

Ukraine starts the French Foreign Legion 2 to compensate for their lack of manpower. it’s going to be lauded by western liberals until it’s revealed that the north african colonial troops they poach aren’t going to get citizenship rights and will end up in human wave assaults

depopulation of Florida begins

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leam1983 · 3 months ago

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2024 in Gaming

Helldivers 2: it's become a running joke with the polycule, and approval with Progressive opinions or talking points now gets at least one of the three of us to jokingly pull out their smartphone to "call their Democracy Officer to report a case of treasonous activity"...

Walt isn't any better, but he's unlocked a few rocket-propelled weapons and now feels better sitting behind myself and Sarah while pelting the enemies ahead with weaponized Freedom.

Balatro: Walt and I's new favourite casual game, wherein appearance of it being a cutesy little variant on Poker suites turns into virtual crack. I've woken up in the wee hours to Walt's face bathed in his phone's OLED screen. When I ask him what's wrong, he typically replies something to the tune of "I need four thousand Chips, babe."

Marvel Rivals: it does what Overwatch 2 don't. As in, it's fun. Me, Walt, Sarah and a few of the boys on an all-Rocket Raccon match? You betcha! Also, there's Jeff the Land Shark, and Jeff the Land Shark deserves the world. Nay, the universe.

Astro Bot: didn't finish it, but I loved what Team Asobi cooked up. It's the most genuine, heartfelt, cutesy and engaging piece of corporate PR and Engineering porn to ever exist. Every button pressed during an Astro Bot session twiddles Mark Cerny's fun bits remotely.

Elden Ring - Shadow of the Erdtree: bought it because I approve of the design ethos behind this DLC's existence, never played it because I suuck at FromSoft games. I made sure to watch some related content so I could point and laugh awkwardly if friends of mine greet me with a random cry of "BAYYYYLE!"

Worshippers of Chtulhu: Anno with a Lovecraftian twist. It's very broken, still very much in Early Access, but the promise is definitely there.

Park Beyond: Meh. Got it for cheap, I guess we're still not getting a decent heirloom to Roller Coaster Tycoon, after the Micromanagement nightmare that Planet Coaster turned out to be for me.

1000xResist: basically a Yoko Taro game not written or directed by Yoko Taro, and it's one of the deeper game-based experiences I've had in a long while. Strongly recommended.

The Cabin Factory: Spot the Difference for easily-frightened streamers who haven't played Exit 8 yet. It has an interesting narrative format and is one of the more surprising implementations of Unity Engine I've seen to date. I could've sworn this was a UE5 project! Beyond that, it's nothing special, but it's priced accordingly.

Clickolding: if Cookie Clicker had an uncanny sense of atmosphere and managed to creep you out with nothing except a sparsely-animated antagonist and a rising click counter, you'd have a sense of what this feels like. It does a very effective job at making you want to be as compliant and possible.

Daemonologie: The Salem Witch Trials in game form, or Ace Attorney if Phoenix wore a Quaker hat and had a fixation on nakey women doing odd shit in the forest. Very tense and minimalist, and very, very worthwhile.

Cryptmaster: it's basically a spruced-up oldschool MUD, with 3D black-and-white graphics and four zombified D&D character archetypes you control simultaneously, by either using your Arrow keys to move the entire party at once, or typing in the words that correspond to abilities or attacks. Very, very, very British humour is on offer, along with a script-writer that managed to predict most stupidly filthy prompts you're likely to try at any given point. It's hilarious and kludgey in just the right way, especially if you remember the nineties' MindMaze on Encarta '95.

Liar's Bar: Russian Roulette for Furries with a decent voIP chat integration. It's shallow and stupid fun, and the subject matter makes people behave in increasingly crude ways as the session goes on. If you're like me, you'll swear you played a round or two against a guy who was actually stone-dead-drunk and who actually had nothing to lose...

Silent Hill 2 Remake: finally, Silent Hill's fog doesn't feel like a performance-saving measure and actually creeps me the fuck out. It makes me feel terrible and has me contemplate not playing it, but it does make sense. Kudos to Bloober Team for finally manage to ground this one heck of a weirdo title.

Indiana Jones and the Great Circle: take Kingdom of the Crystal Skull and Dial of Destiny, burn all copies, consign the masters to Disney's oubliette, thank Harrison Ford for his decades of diligent service and pass the fedora and bullwhip to Troy Baker, 'cause Machine Games and Bethesda have managed to find themselves yet another prime title to fuck Fascists up using fisticuffs or blunt weaponry. It's a great callback to Machine Games' own contribution to Deus Ex: Mankind Divided, seeing as every single level in the game has the granular detail of their version of Prague. Slap some John Williams on, add the authentic audio samples for whip cracks and punches, lifted straight out of the movies. I haven't had as much fun raiding tombs or poking through lovingly-reconstructed real places since Nolan North last lent his voice pipes to Nathan Drake.

Imagine my surprise, when the Sistine Chapel turned out to be about the size of our condo building's parking lot! That's tiny! The more you know, I guess!

Star Wars Outlaws: this is what happens when a studio really, really, really wants to give the IP due diligence, but its decades of re-iterated design docs ruin the experience. Kay Vess isn't a galactic scoundrel; she's basically every Far Cry protagonist ever, except in third-person!

The Forever Winter: all crunch, no fun. An incredibly engaging premise, but the mistaken notion that the average gamer has several three-to-four-blocks to devote to this each and every single day. Worth at least a YouTube ride-along, to see the incredible work the Art Design team's pulled together.

Disney's Epic Mickey - Rebrushed: Warren Spector's poorly-received baby and love letter to classic animation gets its just desserts on PC. It's not super complex with only two basic mechanics based off of two buttons on a controller, but it managed to use an extremely limited toolset to great effect, even throwing in what feels like a younger relative's first potential exposure to the Immersive Sim concept of looking for unmarked routes through a level. The in-between side-scrolling levels are oozing charm, and essentially feel like some part of Spector wanted to play in the same ballpark as American McGee's Alice.

If anything, it cements the idea that non-verbal instances of Mickey Mouse should never be left in the same room as a magical implement or toolset. Ever. Verbal Mickeys can push past their childlike glee and reason accordingly, but the oldschool button-eyed and non-verbal originator is not to be trusted.

STALKER 2: Heart of Chernobyl: Have fun losing half your health because the ARMA-esque mechanics decide that grazing damage means holy shit, you almost died! Especially, have fun getting knocked flat out on your ass by mutants - over and over and over...

To be played in subtitled Ukranian out of implicit support, and to have fun with the Slavic definition of an acting range. It's like watching the second season of Squid Game, except you get the sense that their scale goes from Nonchalant to Pants-Pissingly Terrified with very little grading in-between.

And now, for Games I didn't really get into until 2024...

Valfaris and Valfaris II: Mecha Therion: side-scrollers that do their damndest to look like they stepped straight out of the pages of Heavy Metal as of the mid-eighties. Gorgeously grotesque pixel art meets with a banging soundtrack made up of certified shredders. The lead headbangs and throws the horns when he finishes a stage!

Brütal Legend: an oldie but a goodie, previously constrained to the PS3 but now quite cozy on my Steam Deck. It's got a semi-cohesive grab-bag of mechanics, sure, but it's got even more heart, along with a pre-stroke Tim Curry voicing the villain with the gooiest of all countenances. Imagine Shere Khan, but Metal as fuck.

Katamari Damacy: Re-Roll: I barely touched the original when it came out. Having managed to grab the PC port for cheap and knowing how well it plays with a Steam Deck, the Prince of All Cosmos' ball-rolling sojourn across the surface of our planet has turned into a nightly staple for me.

Baldur's Gate 3: Yes, I know, I'm late, you've all banged Astarion sixteen times by now, but I've got time for a long-form WRPG right now. I might not have this much free time once January 10th rolls around.

The Night Cage: not a vidya, but a really nerve-wracking tabletop game that's made for quite a few fun Friday nights at La Casa de Gremlin.

On My Backlog, You'll Find...

Metaphor: Re-Fantazio: I know it's beloved by all, but it feels so "so far, so ATLUS" to me, and I still haven't gotten over P4, P3 and P5's excellent PC ports. I also have Shin Megami Tensei: Nocturne to go through, so I really don't know if I have it in me to tackle something in that same vein quite so soon.

Arizona Sunshine 1 & 2: I just can't be bothered to set up my Oculus Rift 2's Link Cable. I have the games, I just don't know if and when I'll play them.

Dead Rising Deluxe Remaster: I'm waiting until my old cheese strats fade into the back of my mind before I tackle this one. Plus, I'm torn about Frank West not being voiced by TJ Rotolo. He doesn't just... feels like he's covered wars, y'know?

Frostpunk 2: bought it to support the devs, am just not jazzed about having to sort of network my way across several simultaneous points of origin until the depressing version of a Dieselpunk sprawl covers the map.

The Yakuza series on Amazon Prime: SEGA's trying to become the Disney of gaming, but something about Kazuma Kiryu's story (or stories) have always felt distinctly and uniquely Japanese to me. As in, it requires a specific mindset and might not be for everyone. I'm waiting for a sign, basically - maybe one to pop my collar and rent a karaoke machine so I can belt out maudlin soliloquies to lost childhood innocence while smoking half a pack of cigs between every third or fourth stanza...

The Sonic Movies: yeah, sure, I'm in my forties, but Jim Carrey's going through a career renaissance by acting out Albert Einstein on crack. Yeah, sure, it's not either of my Robotniks (the Jim Cummings or Long John Baldry versions - for the memes) - but it seems like it might still be a trilogy of adaptations worth pursuing.

Plus, hey, I gotta start catching up on that Stobotnik shit, huh?

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kammachem · 15 days ago

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Through Hell for You╎CH 2╎Dangerous Tides

⁎ Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader ⁎ Genre: Enemies to Lovers ⁎ Rating: +18 ⁎ Word Count: 7.4k ⁎ Chapter Warnings: cursing, mentions of shooting, light misogyny basically goes unnoticed but it's there. ⁎ Playlist: Control - Halsey, Teeth - 5 Seconds Of Summer, Killshot - Magdalena Bay, Heathens - Twenty One Pilots

"If I wanna stay alive you should never cross my mind" - Killshot - Magdalena Bay

The safe house in Kyiv was dimly lit, the scent of old wood and gun oil thick in the air. Ghost leaned against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, as Price went over the mission details. Across from him, standing just a little too rigid, was Lieutenant Kilie Reyez—the newest addition to Task Force 141.

He’d heard about her long before this moment. Colombian Special Forces, Tier One. Expert marksman, urban warfare specialist. She had a reputation for getting things done, but Ghost had seen enough so-called "specialists" fold under pressure when shit hit the fan. He didn’t put much stock in reputations—he only cared about results.

The room was filled with quiet tension as Price tapped a satellite image on the map-laden table.

"Alright, listen up," he started, dragging his gloved hand across the aerial view of the Podil district. "Our target’s Vasyl Markov—ex-Spetsnaz, now an arms dealer. Bastard’s been movin’ high-grade weapons across Eastern Europe, and we’ve finally pinned him down. He’s operatin’ out of this warehouse here. Tonight, he’s makin’ a shipment. That convoy leaves, and we’ll be dealin’ with more than just small arms fire."

Soap leaned in, tracing his finger over the streets surrounding the warehouse. "Convoys got a standard security setup—lead vehicle, cargo transport, and a rear guard. All ex-military, well-trained. Won’t be easy to crack."

Ghost narrowed his eyes at the map, analyzing the angles. Predictable. Routine. Which meant it was exploitable.

Price continued, his voice firm. "Plan’s simple. Ghost, you and Reyez are takin’ overwatch here." He tapped a rooftop overlooking the main route. "We’ll set up a blocking action—controlled IEDs, spike strips, anything to cripple their mobility. Once they’re pinned, we breach, extract Markov, and secure the cargo."

Gaz nodded. "We approach from the east, hit ‘em fast. Need Markov alive—intel on his suppliers is priority one."

Ghost didn’t bother looking at Reyez. He just felt the weight of her presence next to him, still and silent. But when Price assigned her to precision fires, she finally spoke.

"Copy that." Her voice was smooth, clipped. Her English was sharp, barely touched by an accent, but Ghost could hear it in the edges of her words—a subtle trace of Spanish, softened by years of working alongside English-speaking operators.

Price’s gaze shifted between the two of them, like he was expecting something. "I need you two workin’ together on this. No lone-wolf shite."

Ghost exhaled slowly. "Long as she don’t miss."

Kilie turned her head slightly, one brow arching as she stared him down. "I don’t miss."

Ghost let out a quiet scoff, unimpressed. "Everyone says that ‘til they do."

Kilie tilted her chin up, stepping just slightly closer, as if daring him to challenge her. "I’ve got more confirmed kills than half the men in this room," she shot back. "I don’t need you second-guessing my shot."

Ghost smirked under his mask, shaking his head. "Ain’t second-guessin’. Just statin’ the obvious. No one’s perfect."

Kilie huffed a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. "And yet you’re sittin’ here actin’ like you are."

Soap, who had been watching the exchange like it was his new favorite soap opera, cleared his throat. "Alright, alright, let’s not start plannin’ each other’s funerals just yet." He shot Ghost a grin. "Y’know, mate, I think she might actually be able to keep up with you."

Ghost rolled his shoulders, refusing to rise to the bait. "We’ll see."

Kilie’s lips twitched. "We will."

Price let out a tired sigh, rubbing his temples. "Jesus. If you two are done flirtin’, we’ve got a mission to run."

Ghost and Kilie both snapped their attention back to him, nearly in sync.

"We’re not—"

"Not a chance—"

Price held up a hand. "Didn’t bloody ask. Just gear up. Wheels up in an hour."

Ghost pushed away from the wall, already heading for the armory. The mission was clear-cut. She was the problem. She was too damn confident, too damn sure of herself. And in his experience, people like that either backed it up or got themselves killed.

He’d find out soon enough which one she was.

The briefing was sharp and to the point. Ghost stood at the back of the room, arms crossed over his chest, his face hidden beneath the skull mask. Task Force 141 was getting a new member, and he didn't need to be told who it was—he already knew.

Kilie Reyez. A rookie, straight out of training.

But not just any rookie. She was handpicked, brought in for something bigger, and he hated that. The mission was simple: infiltrate a weapons deal, extract the intel, eliminate any threats. A standard op, but one that would test the team’s cohesion. And the biggest challenge? His new partner.

He wasn’t interested in small talk. He wasn't interested in anything that wasn’t mission-related. And Kilie? She made him uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t quite explain. Not because she was bad—far from it. She was good, but that was the problem. She was too good.

When they stepped out of the briefing room, Kilie fell into step beside him. Ghost didn’t acknowledge her. He didn't need to. His mind was already in mission mode, the plan running through his head over and over. This wasn’t personal. This was business.

The drop zone was quiet, too quiet. The night air felt colder than usual as they moved to the target location. Ghost led the way, keeping a few paces ahead of Kilie. He could hear her behind him, her boots light but steady, the slight rustle of her gear making her presence known. But that was all it was—her presence. He didn’t let himself think about anything else.

“Stay behind me. Watch for movement,” Ghost muttered, voice low as they neared the warehouse.

Kilie didn’t respond immediately, but he could feel her eyes on him. He didn’t turn to look, just kept moving. She was too confident, too sure of herself.

Ghost preferred the quiet types—those who followed the lead without a word. But Kilie was different. She didn’t just follow. She questioned. Challenged. And that irritated him more than he cared to admit.

As they approached the perimeter, Ghost raised a hand, signaling for them to take cover. His eyes scanned the area. The intel said there would be four guards on the perimeter, but there was no telling how many were inside. He couldn’t afford any slip-ups.

Kilie stepped up beside him, her voice barely above a whisper. “You think we’ll run into trouble?”

Ghost didn’t glance at her. He didn’t need to. "Stay focused," he said, his tone clipped.

She didn’t seem to take offense, but he could tell she was trying to gauge him. He was used to it. Everyone tried to read him. But it never worked. Not on him.

They moved through the shadows, slipping past the guards silently. The building’s structure was a maze of hallways and tight spaces, and every step took them deeper into enemy territory. Ghost kept his movements controlled, methodical, scanning each corner before advancing.

Kilie stayed close, but there was something in her approach that grated against him. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t linger. She just moved, like it was second nature. Like she was too damn confident for her own good.

When they reached the first room, a small storage area with crates and boxes stacked high, Ghost signaled for her to check the corner while he covered her. She gave him a sharp nod and crept forward, her movements fluid, almost too smooth.

The briefest glance passed between them, and Ghost felt that familiar tension coil in his chest. He didn’t want to acknowledge it. He wasn’t here to make friends.

They cleared the room without a sound, no enemies in sight, but the feeling of being watched lingered. Ghost could feel it—the sensation that something was wrong. But the intel said this was the safe part of the building. They had to be in and out, quick and clean.

As they approached the central area where the deal was supposed to go down, Ghost moved ahead, his mind already planning the next steps. There were two armed men near the back, but nothing Ghost couldn’t handle. He raised his hand to signal Kilie to move, but before he could act, she was already darting ahead, slipping into the shadows without a word.

A knot tightened in his stomach, irritation mixing with something else he refused to label. He wasn’t here to babysit. He was here to execute the mission. But Kilie didn’t wait for him. She was already on the move, closing the distance with the two men faster than he expected.

“Dammit,” Ghost muttered under his breath, moving to cover her six.

Kilie made quick work of the first guard, her hand over his mouth as she twisted his neck with a sickening crunch. The second one didn’t even get a chance to raise his weapon before she dropped him to the ground. Efficient. Deadly.

But Ghost couldn’t stop the annoyance from simmering beneath his skin. She had acted without hesitation, as if she didn’t even need backup. And while the mission was a success, he wasn’t about to let her think she could do it alone.

“Next time, follow orders,” he said curtly, his voice like ice.

Kilie glanced at him, unfazed. “Next time, maybe you’ll trust me.”

He didn’t answer, just moved past her to retrieve the intel they’d come for. Her words lingered, though. And that pissed him off even more. He didn’t trust anyone. He never had. And Kilie wasn’t about to change that.

The rest of the mission went smoothly. The warehouse was cleared, the intel retrieved, and the threats neutralized. As they made their way to the extraction point, the tension between them hung thick in the air, but neither of them spoke of it. Ghost kept his gaze forward, eyes scanning for threats, as always.

Kilie fell into step beside him, her movements as precise as his own. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. The mission was over, but there was something left between them. An unspoken understanding—or maybe it was just the challenge of each trying to outdo the other. Either way, it was there.

When they reached the extraction point, Ghost finally allowed himself a breath. The mission was a success. And that’s all it was.

But Kilie...

She was something else.

And Ghost had no intention of figuring out what that meant. Not now, not ever.

The mission debriefing took place in a dimly lit, sterile room, the kind that always smelled faintly of stale coffee and tension. A long table sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by Task Force 141’s finest, including Price, Soap, Ghost, and Kilie.

Price was at the head, eyes sharp and focused, his posture rigid as always. Ghost leaned against the wall in the corner, arms crossed tightly, his mask still on, as if the walls of the room were somehow still as dangerous as the ones they’d just left behind. Kilie was seated across from him, her posture relaxed, but there was a fire behind her eyes that didn’t go unnoticed.

Price cleared his throat, drawing attention to the screen that flickered to life behind him, showing a satellite view of the location they’d hit earlier.

"Mission recap," he began, his voice low and controlled. "We were tasked with retrieving intel on Russian arms deals, specifically the connection to the cartels in Eastern Europe. We did that successfully. There were no civilian casualties, and the target was eliminated."

He pointed to a map that zoomed in on a building marked with a red X, the primary objective. "Ghost, Reyez, you two were on point for the extraction. What’s your assessment?"

Ghost remained silent for a moment, his gaze never leaving the map. "Smooth entry, minimal resistance. We handled it," he said in his usual flat tone. "Target was eliminated in the building; we secured the intel without incident. Extraction was quick. No complications."

Kilie didn’t share the same calm demeanor. She leaned forward slightly, tapping a finger against the table.

"There was an issue with the backup team, though. They weren’t where they were supposed to be when we got to the extraction point. We had to improvise and handle the perimeter ourselves."

Price's gaze flicked to her, his brow furrowing. "Improvise how?"

"We split up," she said, her voice measured but firm. "Ghost took the north side, I took the south. We set up an ambush when we realized we were being followed. It worked out fine, but it wasn’t according to plan."

Ghost’s jaw tightened, his eyes flickering with irritation, but he didn’t speak up. Kilie’s decision to split the team wasn’t what bothered him. It was her reckless confidence in doing so. In his world, following the plan was what kept people alive. She had thrown that out the window without a second thought.

Soap, sitting beside Price, chuckled lightly, breaking the tension. "Seems like you two made a bit of a mess of it, eh? But good work, all the same."

Kilie shot him a sideways glance, a small smirk pulling at her lips. "Not a mess. Just flexible."

Ghost couldn’t keep the annoyance from creeping into his voice. "You’re supposed to follow the plan, Reyez. Not go off script just because you think you know better."

Her smirk faded, and she turned to face him more fully, her eyes locking with his. "And what’s the plan when things go wrong, Ghost? You wait around and hope someone else fixes it?"

"I follow orders," he snapped back. "That’s how it’s supposed to go."

Price's eyes flicked from one to the other, sensing the brewing tension but letting it unfold for a moment. "Alright, enough. We’ve got the intel, we’ve got the kill, and we’ve got out clean. Focus on what matters. This isn’t the time for arguments."

Ghost’s hands tightened into fists, his body stiffening, but he nodded curtly, saying nothing. Kilie looked at Price, her tone softening slightly as she turned the conversation back to the mission. "The point is, we got the intel and handled the targets with minimal resistance. We’re good, but I’d recommend adjusting the backup plans next time."

Price nodded, making a mental note. "Agreed. We’ll run a full review of the team dynamics."

He turned to Ghost and Kilie. "You two are partners moving forward. I think this team has potential. But, Ghost…" Price’s eyes narrowed slightly. "You’ll have to adjust to working with someone who’s got a different approach. Reyez gets results."

Kilie met Ghost’s gaze with an unreadable expression, her eyes sharp, but her face betrayed nothing. Ghost felt the weight of her stare, sharp like a blade, pressing down on him.

It was as if she could see through him, past the mask, past the layers of control that he wore so carefully. Her lips curled just slightly, the barest hint of a smile. It was a challenge, and it was deliberate.

His jaw tightened involuntarily, his fingers twitching at his sides. He hated how easy it was for her to get under his skin, how quickly she unsettled him with nothing more than a look. She didn’t need to speak. She never did.

Just her presence was enough to make the air thick with tension, to turn the room from simple debriefing to a silent standoff. Her confidence was insufferable, and it infuriated him how much he resented that she was so at ease in a world where he had to fight for every ounce of control.

Price’s voice broke through the oppressive silence, but even his words couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling gnawing at Ghost’s insides.

“You two are partners moving forward,” Price said, his tone final. “I think this team has potential. But, Ghost…” Price's gaze flicked toward him, the unspoken challenge in his eyes matching Kilie's own. “You’ll have to adjust to working with someone who’s got a different approach. Reyez gets results.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Ghost clenched his fists at his sides, fighting to keep his breathing steady. He could already feel the tension rising between them, a smoldering fuse just waiting to snap. Adjust, Price said. Adjust to her.

The idea of it was nauseating.

Ghost had never been one to bend or compromise, least of all with someone who thought she could do whatever she wanted without consequence. And yet, Price had spoken, and the decision was made.

Partners.

The word rang in his ears, mocking him. Ghost didn’t need a partner. He didn’t want a partner. Not with her. Not with anyone.

Kilie stood, her movements slow, deliberate, as she made her way toward the door. Her footsteps were measured, like she knew exactly what was running through his mind. Ghost remained seated, his body stiff, his gaze fixed on the table. He wasn’t going to let her see how much this affected him. He wouldn’t give her that satisfaction.

But he couldn’t ignore the way his pulse quickened as she walked past him. The scent of her, faint but unmistakable, lingered in the air like a whisper that he couldn’t escape.

She paused at the door, glancing over her shoulder with that same infuriatingly calm expression.

“See you around, Ghost,” she said, her voice low but tinged with something he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t a promise. It was just… her.

And that was the problem. She was just too much—too bold, too confident, too in his face.

Ghost didn’t answer. Didn’t look at her as she walked out. He couldn’t afford to.

The door clicked shut behind her, and in the silence that followed, he finally let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. But the moment she was gone, the tension didn’t fade. It was still there, heavy in the air. It wasn’t just the mission. It wasn’t just the job. It was her—and he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning.

He stared at the map on the wall, feeling the frustration build again. He’d worked alone for so long. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to feeling like a team. And he damn sure wasn’t used to working with someone like Reyez.

He had to talk to Price. Get this switched. It wasn’t going to work. She was going to get him killed.

Or worse—he was going to end up killing her.

With that thought weighing heavily on him, Ghost stood up, his movements stiff and deliberate as he turned toward the door.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The next few days were a test of endurance. The mission reports came in, the tasks were assigned, and the tension between Ghost and Kilie only grew. Every operation seemed to bring them at odds. Ghost could feel the crackling friction every time their paths crossed, and it didn’t help that Kilie seemed to do everything in her power to challenge him. She was relentless. And though he tried to focus on the mission, the way she handled things irked him.

It was like she was trying to prove something—like she was trying to get under his skin on purpose.

After a particularly rough mission, where Kilie had ignored a direct order from Ghost and almost jeopardized the whole team’s safety, he’d had enough. The tension was too thick, and Ghost had always known when things were beyond repair.

He knocked sharply on Price’s door, trying to keep his temper in check.

"Come in," Price called from inside.

Ghost pushed the door open, stepping in. Price looked up from his desk, a knowing look on his face. He’d seen the way Ghost and Kilie clashed since day one, and he wasn’t blind to the tension.

"I need a word," Ghost said, his voice clipped, keeping the anger at bay.

Price nodded slowly, motioning for him to take a seat. "What’s going on?"

"Her," Ghost spat, his frustration getting the better of him as he leaned against the chair. "She’s reckless. Doesn’t follow orders. Thinks she knows better than me. And I’m telling you, Price, this is gonna get someone killed."

Price raised an eyebrow, sitting back in his chair. "You’re talking about Reyez, yeah?"

"Of course I am," Ghost shot back, his gaze hard. "She’s a liability. I’ve worked with enough people to know when a partnership’s doomed. She’s not following my lead, and it’s making things worse."

Price let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. He knew exactly what was happening here. He had seen soldiers like Ghost before—detached, focused on the job, and unwilling to bend. And he’d seen soldiers like Kilie—brash, fiery, challenging authority when she didn’t think it made sense.

"Look," Price started, his voice calm but firm. "I know Reyez doesn’t play by the book, but that’s what makes her good at what she does. She thinks on her feet, Ghost. Something you can’t always plan for."

"Something you can’t always control," Ghost interrupted, his tone sharper now. "She doesn’t listen, Price. And every time she steps out of line, I’m the one who has to clean up the mess."

Price leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, locking eyes with Ghost.

"You think I don’t see that? You think I don’t know she’s a pain in your ass? But you’re both soldiers. And this—" He motioned between the two of them with his hands, his voice rising just slightly. "This isn’t about your egos. This is about the job. You’ve both been in tough situations before. You’ve gotten through worse. You can figure this out."

Ghost shook his head, pacing in front of the desk. "I’m not asking for her to follow my every word like some puppy, Price. But if she keeps doing this, we’re not gonna last. Not out there. We’re going to get ourselves killed."

Price’s expression softened, his tone more measured now. "I know it’s hard, Ghost. But the way I see it, this is just a test of trust. And I’m not talking about trust in each other’s combat skills. I’m talking about the ability to trust that the other person has your back when it counts."

Ghost was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the floor, but his mind racing. He didn’t like where this was going. He didn’t like the idea of being in a position where he had to trust someone like Reyez. The only person he ever truly trusted was himself. And that had always kept him alive.

"I’m not asking for her to be my best friend," Ghost muttered, his jaw tight. "I just want someone who doesn’t keep going rogue on every mission. We’re in the field, not playing some goddamn game of who can piss the other off first."

"That’s what I’m saying, Ghost," Price said, his voice calm but insistent. "You’ve got to stop thinking of this as a rivalry and start thinking of it as a partnership. Reyez isn’t going anywhere. She’s good at what she does. She’s just not the same as you. But that doesn’t mean you can’t work together."

Ghost clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. "And what if I can’t? What if I’m stuck with her on every damn mission?"

Price stood up, locking eyes with Ghost. "Then you’ll make it work. You’re both professionals. If you need help, you come to me. But I’m not switching partners, Ghost. Not for this."

"Fine," Ghost growled, turning toward the door. "But if she gets us killed, I’m holding you responsible."

"You do that," Price said with a smirk, "but you’ll both be buried together."

Ghost didn’t reply. He just slammed the door behind him, walking down the hallway with the weight of Price’s words hanging over him.

He hated that Price was right.

Ghost walked down the hallway, each step echoing in his ears like a constant reminder of how much he hated this. Price was right—he was stuck with Reyez. And he could feel the frustration building in his chest, a slow burn that didn’t seem to have any way of extinguishing itself. He’d never been the type to work well with others, and Reyez?

She was a different breed entirely. It wasn’t just the fact that she kept stepping out of line; it was that she challenged everything he knew about discipline and control.

He reached his room and slammed the door behind him, the sound muffled but satisfying. He needed space—space to think, to recalibrate. He stripped off his gear, tossing it on the bed, and ran a hand through his hair. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he told himself. He wasn’t supposed to be stuck in this situation. He’d been fine working alone. And now Price was expecting him to trust Reyez?

He leaned against the wall, staring out of the small window, his mind racing. Reyez was a damn good soldier, he couldn’t deny that. But her unpredictable nature was a double-edged sword.

On the one hand, she thought on her feet, got shit done, and handled herself in the field like few others could. On the other hand, her recklessness put everyone around her in danger, including him. That wasn’t something Ghost was willing to put up with.

But then, there was the other part of him. The part that acknowledged how, in the midst of all her chaos, Reyez still somehow got him. When everyone else kept their distance, she didn’t. She didn’t flinch when he snapped at her, didn’t get rattled when he made a harsh comment or two. She didn’t look at him like some dangerous freak; she just saw him. And in some twisted way, that made it worse.

God, what the hell was he thinking?

There was a knock at the door.

Ghost didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“Ghost, you in there?” It was Reyez. Her voice was muffled, but he could hear the irritation in her tone.

He didn’t answer immediately, taking his time before opening the door.

Ghost leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, eyes cold as he watched Reyez enter the room. She shut the door behind her with a force that almost matched the tension in the air. It wasn’t just the mission. It wasn’t just the fact that they had barely made it through without stepping on each other’s nerves. It was her. And him. And the constant friction between them.

“What do you want, Reyez?” Ghost asked, his tone flat but with an edge to it.

She didn't waste time with pleasantries. “We need to talk,” she shot back, her gaze locking with his. “And don’t start with that attitude.”

“I don’t know why you keep talking to me like this is some kind of fucking therapy session,” Ghost said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I don’t give a damn what’s on your mind.”

Reyez scoffed. “Maybe you should. Maybe if you didn’t have your head so far up your own ass, you’d realize I’m trying to work with you, not against you.” Her eyes narrowed, and the tension in her stance was palpable. “But you’re too busy playing the lone wolf to see it.”

Ghost straightened, finally stepping away from the door. “I don’t need a partner, Reyez. I never did. I’ve been doing this shit long enough to know what works, and it sure as hell isn’t having someone like you in my back pocket.”

“Oh, right,” she shot back, crossing her arms. “Because you—the great fucking Ghost—know everything, don’t you?” Her voice was mocking, full of venom.

“Well, maybe you should get off your high horse for two fucking seconds and realize that not everything is about you and your precious ‘I’m alone because it’s safer’ routine. Newsflash, Ghost: the real world doesn’t give a shit about how much you think you can handle on your own.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not part of my world, Reyez,” Ghost growled. “You’ve been in the game for what? A few months? You’re still wet behind the ears compared to guys like me.” He stepped forward, his stature intimidating. “You’re lucky I don’t put you in your place right now.”

Reyez didn’t flinch. She was standing tall, just as pissed as he was. “You don’t scare me, Ghost. I’ve seen worse than whatever you’re pretending to be. You’re not some untouchable god, and you sure as hell aren’t better than me. You think you’re so damn special because you’ve got a mask and some fancy scars? Newsflash, sweetheart, I’ve got my own demons, and I don’t need your fucking approval.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Ghost snapped. “You think you can run around doing whatever the hell you want, and no one’s going to stop you? You’ve got no fucking discipline. You take risks that get people killed.”

“Oh, I take risks? Yeah? Well, what the hell do you do, Ghost? You sit back and wait for someone else to make the call, hoping you’ll get to step in and save the day.” Reyez shook her head, her jaw tight with frustration. “You’re a coward. You hide behind your mask, and you think that makes you invincible. But it doesn’t. It just makes you scared.”

Ghost’s nostrils flared. “I don’t hide from shit.”

She scoffed. “You hide from everything, Ghost. Especially yourself.”

He stared at her for a moment, his fists clenched at his sides. “You don’t know me, Reyez. You think you do, but you don’t. You don’t know the first thing about what I’ve seen. About what I’ve done.”

Reyez tilted her head, her voice dripping with contempt. “I don’t need to know your fucking sob story, Ghost. You want to talk about doing? Fine. But let’s get one thing straight—you and I are stuck with each other, whether we like it or not. So get over yourself and figure out how to make this work. Because I’m not backing down, and neither should you.”

“Maybe I don’t want to make this work,” he said, his voice low and harsh. “Maybe I’m just here to get the job done and get the hell out of here.”

“Fine,” she shot back, eyes blazing with challenge. “But don’t expect me to do your dirty work while you sit in your little corner, all high and mighty. I’m not your fucking lackey, Ghost. And you’re not my hero.”

Ghost was about to retort when she pushed past him, walking toward the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his voice hard.

“Out of here,” Reyez snapped without looking back. “Because I’ve had enough of this bullshit.”

She opened the door, but before stepping through, she turned to face him, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “But you know what? This tension between us? It’s kind of fun. Makes things interesting.”

Ghost stared at her for a moment, his frustration burning in his chest. “Don’t think for a second that I’m going to let you slide, Reyez,” he warned, his voice low.

“Try me,” she replied, before slamming the door behind her, leaving Ghost standing there, seething.

The room felt suffocating now, the silence settling in like an unwelcome guest. Ghost’s muscles were tense, his mind racing with the confrontation that had just unfolded. He hated this. Hated how she could get under his skin with just a few words, how easily she was able to dismantle his carefully constructed walls. But what pissed him off even more was the fact that deep down, he knew she was right.

They were stuck together. And neither of them was backing down.

For the first time in a long time, Ghost felt like he wasn’t in control.

Ghost could feel the simmering frustration between him and Reyez each time they crossed paths. Every mission briefing was cold, every glance sharp, as if the air around them was electric with barely contained rage. They avoided each other when possible, but every once in a while, their eyes would lock, and for just a moment, it felt like the world around them paused.

Ghost couldn’t shake the feeling that she was always watching him, like a hawk just waiting for him to slip up. And maybe he was. Maybe he was slipping. He wasn’t used to this. Used to working alone. Alone meant no one could fuck with his rhythm, no one could question his decisions. Alone meant control.

But now?

Now Reyez was everywhere. In the field. In his ear on comms. Hell, even in his thoughts. And it pissed him off more than he cared to admit.

One night, he found himself walking down the dimly lit hall of the base. The only sound was the faint thud of his boots against the concrete, the rhythmic hum of overhead lights buzzing faintly. As he turned the corner, he came face to face with her.

Reyez.

Her eyes flickered up at him, locking immediately, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke.

“What do you want, Reyez?” Ghost asked, the words sharp, but he couldn’t quite mask the underlying tension in his voice.

She didn’t move, but the corner of her mouth lifted into a small smirk. “Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing.”

Ghost didn’t respond immediately, his eyes scanning her face. She looked tired. But there was something else there—something beneath the anger. It was almost as if the walls she put up were cracking, just a little.

“Look,” she said after a beat, her voice low. “I know we don’t exactly get along. I know you think I’m a liability.” She took a breath, her shoulders stiff. “But I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you.”

He didn’t respond right away, his mind warring with itself. Ghost had always been the one to keep everyone at arm’s length. He didn’t trust easily. Not anymore. Not after all that he’d lost. And yet, there was something about Reyez. Something in her defiance, her refusal to back down that gnawed at him.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” he asked, his voice rough. “You’re trying to get inside my head. Trying to figure out what makes me tick, how I operate.”

She didn’t back down. “I don’t need to get inside your head, Ghost. I just need to figure out how to make us work as a team.”

“And how the hell do you expect that to happen?” he snapped. “We’re like oil and water, Reyez. We’re never going to mix.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re wrong. We don’t have to be best friends. But we do have a job to do. And that job doesn’t get done if we’re too busy fighting each other.”

“Fine,” he muttered, pushing past her. “But don’t think for a second that I’m gonna start trusting you.”

He didn’t look back as he walked away, but he could feel her eyes on him, that unspoken challenge still hanging in the air. Reyez wasn’t going to let him go. She wasn’t going to let him win this silent war between them. And somehow, that made the whole thing worse.

Ghost hated it. Hated how she was getting under his skin.

But what really pissed him off?

He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The next mission came faster than he expected. Task Force 141 was deploying again, and this time, Reyez and Ghost were paired up once more.

This time, there was no fighting it. There was no avoiding it. They had to get through it. Together.

As they loaded into the transport vehicle, Ghost didn’t say a word. Neither did she. They sat in silence, the hum of the vehicle’s engine filling the space between them. But every so often, he could feel the weight of her stare on him. Could feel her trying to read him again.

It pissed him off.

But as the plane descended, and the mission brief began, the reality of the job was clear: there was no room for petty bullshit. This wasn’t about them. This wasn’t about who was right, who was wrong, or who had the better way of doing things. This was about survival.

And right now, they needed each other to make it out alive.

That didn’t mean he had to like it.

"Alright, Ghost," Price said, his voice cutting through the tension in the cabin. "Reyez, Ghost—you two take point on the extraction. We need it clean, understood?"

Ghost didn’t answer. Reyez didn’t either. But they both knew what had to be done. For once, there was no argument. Just focus.

"Let’s make this quick," Reyez muttered as they disembarked.

Ghost didn’t respond. Instead, he nodded curtly and fell into his usual routine. Eyes on the target. The mission first. Always.

The surrounding forest was dense, the trees thick with early morning fog that hung heavy in the air. The smell of damp earth mixed with the sharp, metallic scent of anticipation, the quiet hum of the team's footsteps all but swallowed by the dense woods. Ghost led the way, his boots crunching on the underbrush, movements swift and calculated as he scanned the terrain for any sign of movement.

Reyez was right behind him, a shadow in his peripheral vision. She was good—Ghost had to admit that. Quiet, fast, and efficient, she moved with a purpose that matched his own. They didn’t speak, but there was a certain rhythm between them now, an unspoken understanding that neither one of them would let the other fall short.

The mission had started out simple enough—clean, surgical, quick. Ghost, Reyez, and the rest of the Task Force were deep in Eastern Europe, assigned to infiltrate a covert compound rumored to be a key site for weapons trafficking. Their task: neutralize any hostiles and extract an intel officer who had been turned by an enemy faction. But as the hours wore on, everything began to feel like it was slipping away from them.

“Target is here, Ghost. We’ve got eyes on,” Price’s voice crackled through Ghost’s earpiece, steady as always, but there was a subtle edge to it now, a hint of urgency.

“Copy that, Price,” Ghost replied, his voice a low growl. “Reyez, on me.”

They were positioned at the perimeter of the compound now, crouched low in the shadows behind a crumbling wall, the faintest traces of dawn breaking over the horizon. Ghost’s fingers flexed over the stock of his rifle, his body coiled and ready to move.

Reyez’s eyes flicked between him and the building ahead, her posture alert. She was always on edge, but he knew it wasn’t just the mission. No, she was as sharp as he was—and that made her unpredictable.

They moved forward silently, their boots pressing into the dirt, careful not to alert any guards patrolling the area. As they neared the compound’s east entrance, Ghost gave a hand signal, and Reyez responded without a word, a brief nod acknowledging the plan. They’d done this dance a thousand times before.

Reyez reached the door first, silently slipping through the cracked opening with Ghost right on her heels. The dimly lit hallway of the compound stretched out before them, sparse but efficient. This wasn’t the kind of place that had time for luxuries—it was function over form, and it reeked of cheap metal and military-grade machinery.

“Clearing the first hall,” Ghost whispered, lowering his voice even though there was no need. Old habits.

He peeked around a corner and immediately spotted two guards standing by a stairwell. No words exchanged between them, but they were too close to their target to let them pass unnoticed.

“Reyez, two tangos ahead,” Ghost said through comms, his eyes never leaving the guards. He was already calculating the angle, his mind a machine. “I’ll take left. You take right.”

“Copy,” Reyez’s voice came back, cold but steady. No hesitation.

It was over in a flash. Ghost’s rifle raised, the suppressed shots echoing in his earpiece as the two guards dropped in the same instant. Reyez was moving already, heading deeper into the compound, clearing rooms as she went. Her steps were light but precise, each one a practiced motion.

"Moving to secondary objective,” Reyez reported through the comms. “Clear to continue.”

Ghost’s response was quick. “Keep it quiet, we don’t know how many are inside.”

They split up at the end of the hall, Ghost taking the right flank, Reyez taking the left. Each step was measured, every corner and doorway checked for hostiles. The tension was thick in the air, more so now that they were inside. No longer was it just about neutralizing threats. Now, it was about surviving.

"Ghost, contact! Two hostile forces, down the hall!" Reyez's voice crackled with tension in his ear.

Ghost moved to intercept, his boots pounding on the concrete as he rounded the corner, rifle raised. There were two enemies, both well-armed, moving towards him with intent. His eyes narrowed, hands steady as he squeezed the trigger twice. They dropped instantly, no more noise than the faintest exhalation.

The silence hung heavy in the aftermath, broken only by the distant sound of gunfire further down the hall, likely Price and the others clearing their side. Ghost stayed low, checking the bodies for intel before moving on.

Reyez was already ahead, continuing to clear rooms. Ghost kept close, his pace matching hers. Every now and then, he’d look over at her, her posture tense, but determined. The occasional glance between them—no words exchanged—made the tension between them that much more obvious. Something simmering under the surface that neither of them addressed.

They reached the next section of the compound without encountering much resistance, but as they neared the central command room where their target was located, everything changed.

“Ghost, we’ve got movement—inside the command room,” Price’s voice crackled in his ear. “Get in there, now.”

Without hesitation, Ghost and Reyez moved into position. They were behind the door, the air thick with the sounds of their breath and the low hum of the compound. Reyez nodded once, signaling she was ready. Ghost took a breath and nodded back.

“On three. One… two… three.” Ghost kicked the door open, moving in low and fast, his rifle sweeping across the room.

The command room exploded with noise—gunfire, shouting, chaos. Ghost’s eyes locked on the target—a middle-aged man in a tactical vest, his hands raised in surrender. His eyes were wide, fear evident on his face, but before Ghost could call for him to drop his weapon, the situation turned south.

The target reached for his sidearm, but Ghost was faster. He squeezed the trigger, the silenced shots barely making a sound as the man crumpled to the floor.

The room was still for a split second, but only a moment before the firefight erupted. Enemy soldiers flooded in from a side hallway, their weapons raised and ready. Ghost ducked behind a desk, gunfire ricocheting off the walls. Reyez was already moving, covering the left flank, her shots precise and deadly.

“Ghost, we need to clear this room now!” Reyez’s voice was sharp through the comms, firing off another round, dropping two enemies in the corner.

“On it!” Ghost responded, leaning out from cover, and squeezing off three quick shots. Three more bodies dropped. The tension in the room was palpable. Gunfire was deafening, filling the space with chaos.

More enemies surged into the room, but this time, the team had the advantage. They worked in perfect sync, Ghost and Reyez moving like clockwork, each shot, each movement, like a practiced dance.

Their minds were focused entirely on the mission, but Ghost couldn’t shake the feeling that this—this fight—felt personal. It was dangerous. It was real. And despite everything, despite the animosity between them, Reyez was the only one beside him, watching his back.

When the last enemy fell, the room fell silent. The task was done. Their target was secured.

"Target secured," Reyez reported, breathing heavily into her comms.

Ghost’s heart was still pounding, but he couldn’t afford to relax. Not yet. “Get him out of here. We’re not clear yet.”

They moved out quickly, dragging the target to the extraction point. The tension was still there, buzzing in the air between him and Reyez, unspoken but heavy.

"Let’s finish this," Ghost muttered, eyes scanning the horizon.

“Yeah, let’s,” Reyez replied, her voice unreadable. They moved as one toward the exit, leaving the chaos of the mission behind them, but the shadows of what had happened still loomed, unresolved and ever-present.

The fight wasn’t over—not yet.

#task force 141 #enemies to lovers #task force x reader #enemies to lovers trope #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #original character #fanfic #x reader #simon riley x reader #x oc #slow burn #smut #john soap mactavish

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mha-quotes-and-such · 5 months ago

Note

what do you think the lovs Halloween costumes would be?

Twice is absolutely being an inflatable ostrich rider you cant tell me he isnt

Toga and Magne are going ALL out on their costumes. Glitter and pom pom and fake blood EVERYWHERE no one even actually knows what they are, including themselves, they just went hog wild with whatever they could find and had a ball with it

Spinner just goes as Stain, which is so predictable that Dabi Also goes as Stain just to piss him off. Dabi’s actual choice would have just been some horrifying amalgamation of every scary prop/decoration he could find

Mr Compress is a vampire, but like 1800s period accurate 1000$ (stolen) attire vampire. No one can be certain but they all Think the suit is actually stolen from a museum

Kurogiri wears an ugly Halloween sweater

Shigaraki is some overwatch character. I know nothing about overwatch yet Im certain about this

Mustard does dress up and instead makes fun of the rest of the league for being childish. He’ll never admit it but he’d love to go as a robot

#not a quote #ask #head canon appreciation day #mha #bnha

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alchemicaldesignquery · 3 months ago

Text

Overwatch Design: Hazard

It's been a while.

Now that the 6v6 test is slowly winding down (a month and a bit of solid testing and queue times is more than I expected to get in, honestly) and the Dev team is looking toward the next iterations (Moth Meta Classic and Min 1/Max 3, both of which are going to be less ideal versions of the format), I thought it prudent to go into another deep dive about the most recent hero release, and lemme just say-

This fuckin' guy.

There is a lot to like about Hazard; predictable mobility (A Winston jump + fair Doomfist rocket punch) , limited kit application (Bone Spurs + Not-ridiculous Dmg Reduction), space making (all of the above) and with some quirky weaknesses (Wall climb's odd slow down at the tail end is perfect for sleeps/knifes/walling). Overall, a really strong foundation with few/fixable adjustment zones.

And then there's the God. Damn. Wall.

Look, I enjoy Tank. It's been my main since jump, back when I mistakenly thought Mei's Wall was as good as a barrier and kept blocking my team off from being killed and allowingtheenemytohealbehindmywallandcontesttheobjectiveforfree-

(I was a Reinhardt main and didn't know it yet)

So it stands to reason I'm going to be a bit more harsh about my Tank critiques in design. Albeit, the recent slew of Tank releases has also been a bit concerning across the board, but that's another discussion- especially given most of Hazard's kit is very solid with plenty of potential.

But I cannot stress enough how bad it is to provide a front line presence, who is going to be spending the majority of their time not glancing back at their teammates to see what they are doing?

A totem mechanic with collision.

There is a very very very good reason why Mei is not a Tank.

Because if you thought getting walled off from shooting the enemy was bad, having your sightline artificially blocked so you can't heal, help, move, or adjust due to the same is worse. Significantly more so when it's your own teammate (even if unintentionally 99% of the time) doing it.

Where you go, I can't follow

"Drop the Wall!"

Totems are mechanics that can be deployed to produce various effects in the game. Some examples:

Baptiste's Immortality Field

Illari's Pylon

Soldier's Biotic Field (technically)

Symmetra's Teleporter/Turrets

Barriers

Most of these function quite well, with some allowing for destruction, and thus, interactivity between heroes. Totems play an important role in design, allowing for the detachment of some of a Hero's kit potential, into a separate component; an avatar representative of some of their potency, at the cost of a more simplified (and counterable) interaction or-

Totems can be destroyed, blocked, avoided, or misplaced depending heavily on player interaction and input

But when a Totem possesses collision, the stakes increase to a rather significant degree; there is no longer room for error, as the totem's very existence represents both resistance and obstacle to everyone in the match.

This isn't to say Collision Totems can't be done well?

Mei's Ice Block, for instance, is a fairly balanced and well executed example. The context here is that Mei converts herself into the Totem, removing the potential for the rest of her kit in favour of achieving a more resilient state. That transformation comes at such a significant cost, that the scenarios in which it is useful are isolated, even niche. This gives the ability Texture in a way many other mechanics in the game can't hope to achieve.

And Mei's Ice Block can still severely hamper her own teammates.

Collision Totems need to be handled carefully and the why of it all comes down to a sticky topic where Player Input (or Skill if you want the gameplay translation) is concerned: Precision.

A player's ability to be precise is a huge measure of Player Input, allowing for fantastic gameplay moments, highlights, and unmistakable expressions anyone can recognize-

-but when mechanics like Collision Totems are highly dependent on precision to achieve even nominal success?

You've gone and created a situation in which even just learning the hero, is going to frustrate players. Learning is, by nature, imprecise and the road to minimizing how detrimental your gameplay is on your teammates is going to build an unnecessary level of frustration onto the hero.

There's a reason people referred to Mei as Satan in Overwatch 1.

Broad MMR is filled with people learning; not just the hero they are playing, but heroes they are playing against, and with as well. To climb in ranks, MMR, or just Player Input, you will make a lot of mistakes.

In a game like Overwatch, with a boatload of variance at every level, that learning could take (has taken for many of us) years.

Hazard's Wall represents, not just a Collision Totem, in the same sense as Mei's own Ice Wall, but a super-amped up version of it that multiplies the frustration for all.

I really hate that Mole Hill

It isn't as big as Mei Wall. It isn't as imposing as Mei Wall. It isn't as confusing as Mei Wall (multiple pillars each with their own health pools but no distinct visual effect to represent this before being damaged)-

-but hooooo boy howdy does it do a lot more than Mei Wall ever could!

Persistant knockback on contact

Burst Damage on contact

Anti Mobility on contact (no wall climb)

Omni-placement (not land-locked)

And that's in addition to the standard blockading effects of a Mei Wall. As a Totem, Jagged Wall provides far more impact when on the battlefield against enemies, to the point it can be considered as useful and engaging as a Torb turret, which is to say-

Jagged Wall's effects are broad enough in application that it must be considered in every teamfight at the same level of detriment as powerfully automated totems like Immortality Field and Turrets

Trying to operate outside of that paradigm, makes it very difficult to navigate a teamfight (especially from a Divey Tank with mobility to boot) given it can appear very suddenly to ruin plans, engagements, and retreats.

But that...was sort of the design goal. It's frustrating playing Tank and having an inanimate object counter large portions of your kit, but we've got experience with that. It's a familiar frustration at least.

It's when the Hazard is out ahead or mixing it up with the enemy (as one does when Tanking) and you are attempting any of the following as his teammate:

Healing (him or your fellow teammates diving with him)

Supporting (discords, immo fields, suzus, life grips, etc.)

Tanking (6v6 format makes duo with him a significant gamble)

Finishing off low enemies

Sniping

Trying to navigate narrow corridors or tight confines

Free movement/Mobility in a teamfight

That "appear very suddenly to ruin plans, engagements, and retreats" becomes an unacceptable level of frustration in the design.

A Collision Totem appears, decreeing that the engagement has now changed and/or ended, not because the Hazard was purposefully trying to end it, but because the Wall appeared and blocked off LoS for any number of the possibilities listed above.

Wall takes the agency of your teammates and puts it as a secondary priority to a Tank who cannot afford to look around and take into account the dozens of ways in which his teammates might be trying to leverage their own mechanics, kits, and Roles, to achieve success.

A Hazard is more likely (and well within expectation) to Wall himself off from an enemy trying to kill him when he's low, than rely on the healing from his teammates. It just so happens to, inadvertently, interfere with many of the other possible plans his teammates might have had for engagement purposes.

And, to reiterate, this is less of a problem (but still one) the higher in 'Skill' or Rank one gets, but learning takes time and mistakes happen while you learn, which is a far far closer experience to the vast majority of the Overwatch Playerbase. The fact it's going to cost your teammates their own opportunities too is what makes it bad design.

So what can be done?

Honestly, removing the Wall entirely could yield some really positive results.

I know it's a unique mechanic for the Tank Role (even if not for the game itself), but the isolated potential wrapped up in that Totem could be repurposed towards large portions of his kit, expanding both his mobility, engagement potential, and Texture to make him an ideal Tank.

Without Wall, there's room to increase Violent Leap's versatility, both in the initial Leap as well as the Slash (both of which are separate activations). Increasing his ability to change directions or linger in the air between the two stages of the ability, could significantly refine his engagement potential, while allowing for a stronger knockback the longer he lingers between each stage (and maintaining the counter element of it) or activating Spike Guard briefly to absorb enemy CDs/Burst hits before the slash.

His Wall Climb as well, would benefit from a versatility and potency boost; losing the wall means losing the awkward use of climbing it to reach higher ground...which feels like a waste of the ability where other Tanks with similar mobility can achieve most high grounds just fine off a single CD.

Allowing him to perch on vertical surfaces, or gain further height at the cost of climbing slower, or even resetting the first stage of his Violent Leap at the apex of the climb would all be beneficial to his gameplay.

Give his Spike Guard knockback, for isolation and space-making potential. Heck, allow Spike Guard to add temporary increased Knockback for up to 2s if it damages an enemy.

Give his Ultimate a little extra root time.

Allow Bonespurs to persist on the field for upto 1-2s (this....might be too much for the engine to take, but the idea is still solid theory).

All of it is plausible and clarifies his uniqueness as a Tank-

-if you just. Get Rid. Of the Damned. Wall.

Overall, it's superfluous to the rest of his kit, with very little kit cohesion and can be removed without impacting the rest of his gameplay much at all. It's a bit of bloat that is very easily snipped off in favour of cleaner, adjustable changes that make his gameplay more unique.

And you also get rid of the overly frustrating elements that were never meant to go on a Tank to begin with.

#overwatch #design theory #game design #gamecraft #DROP THE DAMNED WALL #Hazard #How did you wall yourself off from your own Healers?! How?!

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