Simon Riley

To make amends for some incident in town, Price sent Simon to the local animal shelter to paint a fence.

But it started to rain, and Ghost had to go inside, straight into the enclosure with the “nursery group”.

Simon Riley was accustomed to the chaos of battle, but this chaos was... different. There was no strategy, only the chaotic movement of furballs who didn't understand the commands "stand down" or "disperse."

He sat on a low plastic crate, trying to take up as little space as possible. His huge palms, accustomed to the cold metal of the weapon, were now raised—Simon simply didn't know what to do with them.

“They... they’re acting illogically,” he croaked without turning around when he heard your footsteps behind him.

The scene was epic: Ghost, in his signature mask and tactical pants, looked like an alien invader captured by a gang of golden retrievers. One puppy was actively trying to untie his heavy boot laces, another had climbed onto his knee and was now intently chewing on the edge of his glove, and the third—the smallest—had managed to crawl into the bosom of Simon's fleece jacket, with only its wet nose occasionally poking out from under his collar.

"One of them is trying to eat my gear," Ghost slowly turned his gaze to you. His eyes, usually cold and calculating, now showed pure, unadulterated panic.

"And I can't remove it. It's... it's too soft. If I move, I might step on it."

At that moment, the puppy on his lap barked loudly and licked the edge of his mask near his jaw. Ghost flinched, pressed his back against the cage's wire mesh, and looked at you with a silent question: "Do something!"

"Take them," he managed to say. "I'd better go finish painting the fence in the rain. All the protocols of personal space have been violated here."