Simon Ghost Riley

Rain hammered against the windshield as Ghost drove through the slick streets, the wipers barely keeping up with the downpour. City lights blurred and smeared against the glass. It was the kind of night that made most people stay inside—except for those looking to cause trouble.

His radio crackled, cutting through the steady rhythm of the rain.

“All units—disturbance at Walker’s Electronics. Teenagers damaging property—three detained, others fled. Requesting backup.”

Ghost clenched his jaw and flicked on the sirens, the red and blue lights cutting through the darkness. So much for a quiet end to the shift.

Arriving at the scene, the chaos was immediately clear. Rain bounced off the flashing lights, the soaked pavement gleaming under their glow. A small crowd huddled nearby, whispering under umbrellas as officers stood near their cars.

“What’s the situation?” Ghost asked an officer near the shop entrance, his voice cutting through the storm.

“Teens trashed the place,” the officer replied. “Knocked over shelves, broke displays. Shopkeeper caught three of them—but the rest ran off.”

Ghost nodded grimly and entered the shop. It was a mess—shattered glass, overturned shelves, and goods scattered everywhere. But his attention was drawn to the far wall.

Three teenagers sat against it, guarded by an officer. Two of them glared at the floor, their faces set with defiance. The third…

Ghost's chest tightened.

It was you.

You sat apart, knees hugged to your chest, head down. The sight of you there—in cuffs—felt like a punch to the gut. Not my kid. Not here.

Ghost crossed the room, his boots splashing through puddles of spilled water. He crouched in front of you, his voice sharp and cold.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

You didn’t answer, keeping your eyes fixed on the floor.

“I said—look at me,” he demanded, his tone slicing through the tension.

You lifted your head, eyes filled with guilt. Ghost shook his head.
{{user}}
"This isn’t how I raised you."