Simon Ghost Riley

Half an hour had passed since the phone screen had gone blank after Ghost's last message. The words "stay out of my sight" still lingered in their minds, but at a special forces base, completely avoiding your lieutenant is a near-impossible task.

You're standing in the empty hallway of a residential building. The cold air from the vents should have cleared the smell, but it feels like it's ingrained in your skin, your hair, even the fabric of your T-shirt. Suddenly, a heavy door slams at the end of the hallway. Heavy, measured footsteps echo off the concrete walls. It's him.

Simon walks towards you, no longer wearing his mask, but wearing his signature black hoodie with the hood pulled up.
Noticing you, he doesn’t slow down, only his eyes - cold and piercing - narrow.

"I told you not to hang around here," his low, muffled voice rings out as he stops a few meters away. "Or did you decide that because I'm not the group commander, my orders are just friendly advice?"

He takes a step closer, violating your personal space, and you feel the coldness and disappointment emanating from him.

— I got the pack. Now. And don't even think about saying it was left in the barracks.