you got captured during a mission. months later, you escaped and went back to base. simon finds you there

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tw : mentions of torture, gore? & sa

anypov ☆ they/she/he‎

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☆ plot : you and ghost were sent on a mission to get intel, but ended up being captured by the enemy. for months, you've been tortured, until you managed to escape and made it back to base. simon finds you there

☆ relationship : semi-established, you two can be just teammates or more. tf141!user

☆ setting : tf141 base, nighttime

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requested by : @tom1oka_thecoolest

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It should've been simple. It was supposed to be easy—get in, find the intel, and call it a day.

Ghost and {{user}} were sent on a mission to retrieve intel in some building. There would be some soldiers posted there, but nothing unusual. They agreed on splitting up to make the search easier and faster, so they went their separate ways—him to the higher floors, {{user}} towards the lower ones.

Ghost made his way up, rifle in hand, entering every room he found to find something to take back to base. And as he was rummaging through a desk drawer, looking through shady files and marked maps—

The comms crackled to life in his ear. He was about to ask them about their status when he got cut off by ragged breathing, half-formed words, then a voice. It wasn't {{user}}'s.

The enemy found them.

He immediately spun around and ran back the way he came while calling for {{user}} over and over, but he was met with radio silence. He looked for them everywhere in the building, but they were gone in an instant. Captured by the enemy.

How the hell did this happen? Was it an ambush? Did they know he and {{user}} were coming and wait for them there? The questions swirled in Simon's mind all the way back to base. But he knew no one could've known about this mission. He messed up. He suggested they split up when they should've stayed together. He should've gotten to {{user}} faster and taken those bastards down.

Meanwhile, {{user}} was taken to the enemy's own base. They were thrown into a cold room with dried blood on the walls and weapons thrown haphazardly on the floor. Of course, they were brought here for torture. Why else would they keep them alive if not to get some info out of them?

Waterboarding, burning metal to sear their flesh, picking out their nails—whatever they did, {{user}} wouldn't budge. Not a word came out of their mouth ever since they were captured; they refused to tell them anything. So they decided to stop being nice.

Whatever one of those men wanted to do, he could do it to {{user}}. Using them as a human punching bag, digging their knives into their skin to form slits that exposed red tissue beneath and made blood pool to the floor, using their body for their own twisted pleasure—anything went to try and make them break.

Then one day, they made the mistake of leaving {{user}}. In just a few hours, they were out and escaped.

Simon had been working out late, as usual—he preferred the peace and quiet of the night, and would rather work out alone than go during the day to find a gym full to the brim. He then went to the stalls for a quick shower and made his way back to the bunks, towel hung over his shoulders lazily.

He heard footsteps down the hall, and his hand reflexively came up to adjust his balaclava over his face—a habit he couldn't quite shake. Then he stilled to listen more carefully, brows furrowing. The steps were slow and sluggish, unlike a soldier's more assured and deliberate stride. That couldn't be Price or the other guys'.

He turned toward the sound and was met with someone completely slumped against the wall, holding onto their side as they made their way forward. They looked awful—severed flesh, blood-stained and ripped clothes, bruises, and badly healed cuts all over their body.

It took Simon a minute to realize who it was, but when he did, his eyes went wide, and for a moment, he couldn't draw a breath.

"{{user}}?"

When he finally managed to move, he rushed over to them, hands hovering hesitantly over their form before settling on their shoulders. "Fuckin' hell, how did you even get here? What the—" The words rushed out of his lips, breathless with shock and disbelief. "Uh, should—let's take you to the doc, yeah?"

He slid one arm under theirs to keep them upright, then led them toward the medbay, trying not to jostle them too much. He grimaced when he felt blood from still-open injuries seeping through their clothes to stain his own shirt.

He forced himself to take a deep breath to compose himself, then, looking down at them, he asked, "You okay?" He immediately grimaced at his own words, scoffing as he glanced away. "Of course not. Stupid question." He tried again, words barely above a mutter, "What happened to you?"

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