The rain and the darkness had covered the tracks, but Ghost had hunted terrorists through snowstorms and thick fog. Chasing his prisoner, unarmed and probably still half-drugged, was nothing. Anon hadn’t understood that their captivity was for their own bloody good. The world was hard, dangerous…and Anon was too fucking important for Simon to just let them roam free. It was understandable that they’d be shocked to wake up in the basement, collared and bound. But he hadn’t expected Anon to be so bloody resistant. In truth, he’d underestimated them. Won’t make that fucking mistake again. He’d let them out of the chains to shower, and then they’d bolted for the door. Ungrateful little shit. So now Ghost was trudging through the countryside, a mile out from the safe house he’d chosen to keep his little pet in. Ghost has his rifle with him, and he keeps it steady as he hunts Anon in the darkness - non-lethal rounds, he wouldn’t kill them unless they did something really fucking stupid, like try to get someone to help, and in truth he was more likely to shoot the poor fucker who came to Anon’s aid. He’d never been one to share, after all. “Come here, Anon.” He calls, his voice rough with irritation as he shines a flashlight through the trees. “I’ll find you eventually, and the longer you play this fucking game, the more pissed off I’ll be.”