Art for chapter 32 of my WIP fic Watch out for False Prophets, an angsty, extreme slowburn Ghoap fic about Simon growing up in a cult run by Roba, and Soap being an outsider who he makes friends with and who helps nurture the seeds of doubt in Simon's mind about the cult.
Sadly Roba doesn't die for real until the very end of the fic, but hey, at least Simon gets to enjoy fantasizing about murdering him, right?
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what i would give for a ghost based cod campaign. can you imagine if they pulled from the comics and had roba come back and want to get revenge against ghost for destroying his empire? the 141 slowly learning about simon riley and banding together to kill his ghost?
ghost being so certain he killed roba to set up an unreliable narrator; taking this unfathomable soldier, the nightmare of the 141, and realising he bleeds humanity. playing as ghost through flashbacks of mexico and his torture under roba but in the current time, little details break down; little inconsistencies of enemy numbers or base layout or what people look like, things that you can't be sure if you the player just missed something or if itâs really ghost seeing things that arenât there
ghost starting to question how much of his memory is real, both what he went through with roba and what heâs currently experiencing; if it's his trauma bleeding through or if he's breaking for the last time. he doesnât know if he can trust himself ("just make sure you can trust yourself. start there") and he has to reckon with completely trusting the 141 when he realises he can't
i need a sequence of him just losing his shit; hearing roba's voice in his head, his taunting âenglishâ telling him he never left his compound, seeing the dead prostitute and his father laughing, always laughing, the tear of the meathook between his ribs and sting of the scorpions in his flesh, the coffin and the rotting stench of the dark and all of it culminating in ghost almost accidentally shooting soap when he tries to talk him down
whether it ends up being someone pretending to be roba or they just change it to roba still being alive, either way i need a ghost based campaign with personal stakes and character depth
Big truther of Ghost being branded by Roba, and never quite being able to remove the scarring no matter how well he tears at his own skin. It'll always mark him, the way his captor wanted. He'll always have to see it and know what they intended for him to be, is he still the monster they wanted?
Ghost digging himself out of his grave with a Jawbone
When people write about Ghost digging himself out, I commonly see them describing him taking the jaw off the skeleton he'd been buried with.
I'm here to tell you that the canon, as I understand it, is that Roba had Vernon killed for being unable to break Simon Riley, then when Roba was also unable to break Simon Riley (and Roba was done playing with him), Roba had Vernon's grave reopened and dumped Riley in the same grave and buried him alive.
It takes a good 30+ days for a body to decompose down to a skeleton, and that's in the perfect conditions. Exposed to the elements, touching the dirt, available to microbes and bacteria in the earth. In a casket it takes much longer. (and it must have been a casket for Ghost digging himself out before he suffocated to be feasible)
Ghost didn't just pop the jaw off a skeleton, he dug his fingers into decomposing skin, buried them past the rotting muscle, and wrenched that bone free of Vernon's festering corpse. Yanking against the stubborn ligaments and cartilage that attached it to the skull.
So, feel free to keep that in mind the next time you're depicting Ghost climbing out of his own grave.
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sry if this is random but will u tell us what english au is? i remember seeing it passing re: codposting and im so curious
Hi i'm so happy you asked
English AU came about when me and @farramint started bonding over how much we hated the comics and talked about how things might look if Roba was more competent.
English AU sprouts from the concept of what would happen if Simon let the brainwashing 'work' and started complying with Roba, to an extent, as his personal attack dog. Both as a way to get the torture to stop (so he would be healthy enough in the future to escape on his own, when the opportunity arose), and to stall Roba getting bored with Simon and killing him (as, in this AU, Roba had Sparks killed, leading Simon to realise his time is limited here, and dependent on that sadist's interest in him).
It's also a fun, morbid enough exploration on how low Simon will be forced to stoop while 'working' for Roba (murder, torture and such, yknow how it is), as well as the harassment, humiliation, and torture (of all kinds) he'd have to tolerate within the Zaragoza cartel. Things like forcefully being tattooed, mocked for the sexual assault and torture he'd been subjected to, and being referred to by 'English' as opposed to his actual name. I can see Roba subtly holding Simon's family hostage (to where they don't know they're in danger), and making sure Simon knows that any step too far out of line will lead to their harm. Gripped by the idea that the first time Simon hears his brother's, or mother's, voice in months is a conversation secretly recorded between one of them, and someone Roba had planted in Manchester in order to keep tabs on them.
It also lead to the idea of Roba, in all his arrogance, seeing a weakness in Las Almas following the upheaval within the cartel causing El Sin Nombre to rise to prominence. And this spurs him to try and expand operations. One thing leads to another, and Valeria convinces 'English' to help her against Roba, in exchange for his own freedom. Roba eventually dies, Valeria and Simon are violent girlbosses in arms, and Simon is coping sooo well after the torture nexus that he's just going to brutally hunt down the remaining Zaragoza cartel lieutenants while in this tenuous alliance with El Sin Nombre, who is also unsure how much to trust this man, as well as unsure if she wants to even let him go - Simon is very good at what he does, and in all honesty he knows too much about her identity. Also extremely to draw parallels between Valeria and Rudy, but if people want to read about that lmk because that's a separate post entirely.
And it makes sense for the 141 to eventually appear, maybe somewhat faithful to the plot of MW2, with the missiles and such <3. Except now there's some ulterior motives from Price, who might be aware of the MIA SAS serviceman who got tangled up in rumours of corruption and cartels. Leading to him trying to find Simon Riley and bring him back home with this sense of duty/honour to uphold, in the wake of higher-ups failing this man.
Simon then going from one master (Roba) to another (Valeria) to another (Price) is very fun to consider, as well. Valeria giving Simon more independence than Roba ever did, with shreds of respect to stop him from rankling under her thumb as badly (but still keeping Control, at the end of the day). Price is very much a man who knows how to utilise the men under him as Weapons, and while he respects his subordinates as people (versus Roba seeing Simon as a convenient attack dog he used to make kneel naked, arms behind his back, in a wire kennel for hours on end), Price ultimately values them by their individual abilities to keep the 'bad guys' afraid of their own shadows, and to 'save' the world.
This au has everything. Alejandro-Valeria bitter divorce, competent Roba horrors, Graves is there for some reason (he explodes in the tank again), Simon slaughter hashtag girl momen with a cunty silk buttonup a (with the buzzcut no less)(and houndcoding)(and corruption. but how much is merely just building off his sas conditioning), Price's vague sense of corruption but 'for the greater good', Soap and Gaz's horror at Simon's situation in a 'this very easily could've been us' way, and Gaz gets thrown out of another helicopter.
augh this became long, i hope it makes sense. The idea is ultimately that simon gets to go home, too, and tries to readjust to a 'normal' life, reuniting with Tommy and Sharon and Beth and Joseph. But I can see Price convincing him to return to the service (he knows a lifer when he sees one, and why waste a good soldier), potentially as a private contractor with the 141.
This one is pretty short, because spoilers but Simon does kill Roba in less than a minute so he didn't time to think about it really :/
There's one more story (that I might even post today because it's so short), and from then on I'll be working on the comic only for part two! Started up uni again so I won't even try to predict when that's gonna be finished lol
English disappointed him.
It was a shame, since Manuel could see how much potential the kid had. Stronger body and mind than his now broken superiors, somehow able to withstand months of torture. It was curious, how it seemed the more the Corporalâs situation seems hopeless, the more he resisted.
That is not to say the rest of his team was better. His fellow Sergeant died about two weeks in, to an infection. The Captain, shot after trying to escape. That wouldâve impressed him, if the man got any further than the hallway outside his cell.
So while yes, Riley did last remarkably long, he was disappointing. Such men are no use to Manuel, if they do not learn to obey.
He ordered two of his men to dispose of him, put him alongside Vernon. No need to waste time digging another grave, after all.
There are still a few prisoners left for him to toy with. None as riveting as Riley, of course, some Mexican Special Forces soldiers who started crying for their mother not two hours into their first session. Manuel sighs, letting out a stream of cigar smoke from his lips.
He wonders, briefly, if perhaps killing Riley here wouldâve been more beneficial. Theyâve all heard tales of revenants, and Reapers, of how certain men will simply refuse to die.
How would he kill him then? Suffocation, while easy, wouldâve likely brought on a boring result.
Immolation seemed far more fascinating, but as far as Manuel knows, it wouldâve just made the man fire-proof. Nothing you canât do with extra gear.
No, truly powerful revenants must die in battle, where only supernatural strengths could save them. Ah, if he had a revenant of that capability⌠one revenant like that equals a hundred men. Then again, heâd need to have a short leash on a revenant like that.
And English proved time and time again, no one is able to leash him.
What a waste.
 A knock on his office door pulls him away from his ruminations, and he watches the men he sent to deal with the subject of his introspection enter the room.
âI assume heâs been dealt with?â Manuel drags his eyes down to the menâs arms, which are covered in dirt.
They nod, âyes, sir. ButâŚâ
âWhat is it?â
âEnglish woke up on transport.â
Oh? He was awake for it?
Manuel waves his hand, dismissing them, âno matter. Iâm sure he wonât stay awake for long, if youâve done your jobs right.â
The men leave, not fast enough for Manuel to miss the glint of fear in their eyes. It mellows out the frustration built up over thinking about the Corporal.
Buried alive⌠what kind of revenant would that bring? Well, Manuel supposes it is similar enough to suffocation.
He really should consider acquiring some revenants. If not to employ, to at least interrogate. To borrow into the mind of those who have seen death and returned alive⌠what kind of things could Manuel extract from them?
The possibilities are endless.
For now, heâll make do with the prisoners he does have. Manuel extinguishes the cigar and places it back in its case, locking the drawer and the door as he leaves the office. His steps are accompanied by sounds of screams and agony. If the soldiers are already reacting like this from the âwarm-upâ his men are giving them, Manuel truly doesnât expect theyâll last until next week.
A guard opens the door to the first torture room, where he finds a bleeding man stare up at him with wide eyes full of horror. It takes Manuel back to one of the last sessions he had with Riley.
His hand hurts from the force of the slap, but it is worth just to see the way Rileyâs head snaps to the side, his face swollen from hours of beating.
Manuel takes hold of a fistful of dirty blond hair and makes English look at him in the eye.
âLook at you. You donât even fight back anymore, do you? Just a sickly little dog under my boot. I wonder, would your father even recognized you if I sent him your body?â Manuel goads, a sharp grin on his lips as he asks him with mock concern.
He waits for the spitting, or the tears, even complete apathy is expected at this point, but English doesnât do any of that.
No, he stares at Manuel for a long moment, something lighting in his eyes for the first time in weeks, and he opens his bloody mouth to laugh.
It takes Manual by surprise, so much so that he doesnât react for a while, watching Riley choke on his own laughter, the sound turning to wheezing as it finally dies down. Riley smiles somewhat maniacally, and with a croaky voice says, âshould I give you his address? Make it easier for the both of us.â
Manuel opens his mouth to ask what the fuck is wrong with him, but English continues, âheard of Agecroft Cemetery and Crematorium? Nice place. Made sure to buy the plot nearest to the dumpster on the other side of the fence for him. It smells like he did when he was aliveâ
Itâs odd, how this is the most heâs heard Riley talk since he got him in this chair. Perhaps heâs finally cracking, god knows it took him far longer than any other soldier heâs worked on before.
âGood to see you still got a sense of humor, English.â Manuel lets go of Rileyâs hair, and his head falls, âseeing youâre in a good mood, might be time to start listening to me, eh?â
Rileyâs shoulders shake with a silent laugh, and he raises his head to give him a joyless grin, his teeth stained red, âthink you didnât understand last time I told ya mate - Fuck. You. Want that in Spanish? Vete a la mierda, cabrĂłnâ
Manuel feels a surge of anger rush forth, and he kicks English in the chest, making the man groan in pain and erasing that fucking smile. He wraps his hands around Rileyâs throat, feeling his heartbeat spike.
âYou think youâre getting out of this alive, fucker?! Think is anyone coming to save you?!!!â
Riley gasps, his torso contorting as he tries to get away, as if heâs not tied to the steel chair. âN-no.â He chokes out.
âThen why are you still fucking resisting?! You know it will do nothing!!!â
The skin under his fingertips starts to bruise, Englishâs eyes bulging out when he snarls, âmakes⌠you⌠m-mad⌠donât it?â
Manuel tightens his hold, and English loses consciousness, his eyes rolling up into his skull. He huffs out, anger still simmering within him.
âMarcus!â he calls to the guard beyond the roomâs door, âget English to the pit, fucker needs to learn a lesson.â
The guard enters, wordlessly untying Riley and dragging his body out. Manuelâs hand itches for a cigar, maybe something he can sink his teeth into and tear apart. Something that would look at him with fear, the light in its eyes broken, knowing theyâre truly doomed.
Not unbridled mirth.
Riley is broken, that much is clear. But heâs not broken the way Manuel intended, not broken in a way he can use.
And things he has no use for? They get discarded, as they should.
Their little dance is coming to an end.
Manuel leaves the room with bloodied fists and an unsatisfied smile. Such pathetic excuses of soldiers donât deserve a shred of his attention or time, and yet they keep falling into his hands.
If only English⌠no, best not to think of another failure.
He wipes his hands on a scratchy towel, throwing it at a passing guard with barks of orders. He really needs that fucking cigar.
The office door shuts violently behind him, the hinges creaking. Manuel lets out a loud sigh as he drops to his chair, and after a few moments of simply breathing, he pulls out a cigar and his lighter.
The metal lid is flipped open, and it lights on the third attempt. Manuel brings it closer to the cigar, only for the flame to be extinguished by a sudden gust of wind. He frowns and turns around, has he left the window behind him open?
No, the window is closed. How odd. Manuel turns back.
⌠Why is it that he still feels cold?
A far off scream makes Manuelâs hand drop the lighter and reach for the pistol at his hip. His mind fires off explanations one by one, as the screaming gets closer, and closerâŚ
Have they been compromised? Are the special forces finally getting revenge on their fallen soldiers? A rival cartel, perhaps?
He doesnât reach an answer, in the seconds before it all goes dark.
Somewhere in his brain, Manuel can feel none of them were correct.
It hits the office like a wave, drags him into an empty world. Lightless, lifeless, barring a single man.
Uncaring for the howling men at his feet, his guards and prisoners alike succumbing to a dark, inky matter, a man stands. He is encircled by white light, his eyes glow as they unnervingly stare at him.
That⌠thing is staring at⌠him.
âROBAâŚ..â
The voice is distorted, like a hand took claws to the thingâs throat, but Manuel would recognize that voice in any condition.
When it is tinted with rage. When it is bloody and bruised. When it is full of mirth.
His hands shake, their grip on the pistol slipping, his heart beating hard enough that he thinks anything left alive in this realm can hear it.
âE-English?â
Riley, or whateverâs left of him, doesnât answer. He raises his arm, the fingernails torn like he clawed his way out of that grave, and points to Manuel.
The men on the ground stop squirming. As one, they turn their head to Riley, their gaze following the pointed finger, until their gaze meets him. Their eyes, soulless.
It hits him, then. Rileyâs a fucking revenant.
âKILL HIM.â
Hundreds of hands scrape a bottomless void, teeth black and yearning for untainted flesh, feet tugging at darkness materialized, they all rush towards Manuel.
At that moment, he is no longer disappointed. He sees now, that English surpassed anything he could have ever molded him into.Â
As the void overcomes him, Manuel Roba feels content.
He was right. He shouldâve killed Riley himself.
Manuel laughs at the face of death, not with mirth but with utter horror, tears pulled from his eyes only to freeze, and the last thing he truly sees is a brilliant light, of a man not even death could force to kneel.
What a wonderful monster has he created.
Heâs dead.
Simon blinks, and Limbo recedes. He feels⌠cold. Like the realm never left. It is not uncomfortable, not after the grave.
He tilts his head skyward, his breath fogging up in the Mexican night air, stars twinkling their greetings to him. Everything is finally, blessedly, quiet. He canât even feel his wounds.
He canât feel much of anything, anymore. Simon looks down, at his hands. Bloody, dirty, months of torture scarring them beyond recognition.
Are those really his hands?
Heâs dead. Thereâs nothing he can do to him now, locked forever in his Limbo. It will protect him. It will never allow anything to hurt him again.
âŚWhat now?
Simon looks to the horizon, no signs of civilization in any direction. He mustâve memorised a map of the area at one point, known where the nearest city was, before that information was replaced by unending hunger and bloodshed.
With nothing but the stars to guide him, Simon chooses to walk in the opposite direction of Robaâs complex. Nothing will stop him now, since heâs dead, and the faster he can rid himself of the sight of that wretched place, the better.
Itâs alright, though. Because he is dead.
He is dead.
HeâŚ
Simon collapses to the ground, his shoulders shaking, not with sobs, but with muted laughter. He is dead.
Simon is dead. Roba canât hurt him anymore, death canât touch him anymore. You cannot kill what has already been slain.
