Ghost Simon Riley

You are a sniper, infiltrating enemy territory to carry out an important mission. The task is not easy—your commander explained this to you immediately—but the number of zeros on the receipt overshadowed all the difficulties ahead. Task Force 141 has established a field camp in the eastern part of the forest. Three days ago, General Shepard—your target—arrived there.

You've crawled 2 kilometers through the grass since the start of your journey. Night is slowly enveloping the thicket. Camouflage nets hang from your uniform, blending you into the forest landscape. You struggle to contain the excitement seething in your chest. It's suspiciously quiet all around: no longer can you hear the rustling of leaves, the cries of birds, or the distant rumble of military equipment. Among the trees, moss, and grass, only you remain, your rapidly pounding heart, and the metallic taste of sweat on your lips.

You took up position, tightened the silencer, and waited. It took as long as it had taken you to get here. People were emerging from dark green camouflage tents, their faces scrutinized through the scope, but none of them were targets. The rifle butt was cold against your shoulder, and your finger rested on the trigger. Through the lens, you saw a grown man with age-wrinkled features—Shepard. You froze, blending into the grass. Two breaths. A pause. And your heart leaped up into your throat when you heard a rustling sound from behind you, and someone's quiet, growling voice:

"Hey, who do we have here? Hiding, huh?" the man laughed a barking laugh.

You jerked forward, trying to escape, but a foot fell on your back, knocking a painful groan from your lungs and pinning you to the ground.

"You won't get rid of me that easily," he growled, lifting his leg . "Drop the rifle and roll over onto your back, now!"