Simon Riley (Ghost)

Rodolfo was the silence before the shot. The guy who doesn't need to speak for everyone to know he's thinking ten moves ahead. Always in Alejandro's shadow, but just as lethal, just as steadfast. He watched me with distrust from the first minute, and it took him a while to trust me. I respect him for that. He didn't give his loyalty easily. But when he did, his gaze was no longer one of judgment, but of shared vigilance. Rodolfo was precise, methodical, almost clinical. Where Alejandro had fire, Rodolfo had ice. And on the field, that made him lethal. If he said something wasn't right, it was better to listen. He saved my life once. He never rubbed it in my face. That also says it all.

Alejandro was pure of heart. A leader like few others, with just the right amount of rage and the necessary calm. He fought for his people, his land, his code. I met him with a rifle pointed between my eyebrows. But when he understood who I was, he lowered the weapon and welcomed me with respect. He trusted the Task Force like a brother, and that was enough for him to trust me too. His relationship with Valeria was an open wound that didn't bleed, but it hurt. He never said it, but it was noticeable. He fought with honor, as if each bullet were a promise to his people. Alejandro was a soldier, yes... but also a man of principles. In a world full of traitors, he remained loyal to the bone.

Valeria wasn't just a threat. She was a fire contained within a firm gaze and a sharp tongue. I met her when she was already "The Nameless One," but it took only a glance into her eyes to know she was once something else. Alejandro knew her well... too well. There was history between them, and that history hurt. I saw it in her silences. Valeria was dangerous, yes, but also intelligent, cold, and calculating. She spoke to me as if she knew I, too, had my share of betrayals. And she wasn't wrong. She wasn't to be trifled with. If she smiled, it was because she'd already won. But behind that harshness... sometimes, I thought I saw a trace of the woman Alejandro was still searching for. Perhaps that's why he could never kill her.

Gaz was fast. Quick to think, move, and act. From the first moment I saw him bringing up the rear in Las Almas, I knew he was no ordinary soldier. His eyes were always analyzing, even when he seemed relaxed. He was a balance between Price and Soap: the calm before the storm, but with a spark when it was needed. He called me “Falcon” as if he knew me before. Professional to the core, but he also had that touch of dry British humor that made me smile even when everything was burning. I trusted his instincts, and he, somehow, ended up trusting mine. If the sky was on fire, you knew Gaz would find a way to get you out alive. It was as if he had the map of the war tattooed on his skin.

Graves was my commander, my mentor... and, for a time, the only one who believed in me without question. He opened the hangar doors for me when no one else would. He treated me like his ace in the hole, his personal Falcon. He gave me freedom, trust, and yes, fun too. But something about him changed. Over time, he stopped being that bold leader and became something darker. I watched him cross lines I once respected. I began to notice his ambition spoke louder than his conscience. Still... there are days when I remember his smile when I landed perfectly, and I wonder if anything about him is still real.

Captain Price was the kind of leader who didn't shout orders; he carried them with his eyes. Serious, methodical, but humane. I watched him give everything for his team, and I understood why they followed him without question. He personally thanked me for the extraction at Las Almas, and his words carried more weight than any medal. He had that energy of a father who'd seen too many wars but still believed in something. He never let his guard down, but if you trusted him, he'd give you a piece of his shield. Watching him act was a testament to respect in its purest form. I never flew for him, but I would have done so without hesitation.

Soap was a living fire, a constant spark in the darkness. Wounded, bleeding, he still joked as if death were an old friend. His thick accent threw me off at first, but his humanity was impossible to ignore. He called me "Scally" as soon as he met me, and he hasn't stopped since. He was always willing to risk his life for his loved ones, and his loyalty was as steadfast as his aim. Sometimes, he'd tell me stories in the middle of combat to distract himself. He made me laugh, even when hell was falling upon us. In the midst of chaos, he was that beam of warmth that reminded you why you're fighting.

Ghost. I never knew his real name at first, but his mask said it all: someone who survived something too big to show their face. He didn't talk much, but when he did, everyone listened. Cold as a scalpel, sharp as a bullet. The first time he boarded my helicopter, he didn't even blink in the crossfire. He looked at me and said, "I trust you, pilot," and that was enough. There was something about him... something broken and shiny at the same time. He wasn't just a soldier: he was a silent wolf, and sometimes, I felt like he saw more of me than I let on.

They called me Falcon for a reason: the skies were my refuge and my foxhole. I was always the best pilot in Shadow Company, and I don't say that out of ego: it's reflected in the times I returned with my wings intact when others couldn't. For as long as I can remember, flying was the only thing that made me feel free. Graves trusted me blindly. He let me pilot the F-18s "for practice," even though we knew he did it because flying with me was like having death eating out of your hand. When I met the Task Force at Las Almas, something in me changed. I wasn't just flying for adrenaline or loyalty anymore... I started flying for something bigger. Those ghosts left their mark on me.