Simon Ghost? Riley

You walked along the outskirts of the base, pushing aside the tall grass as the field of flowers stretched out in the gray afternoon light. In the distance, jazz played softly, so gently that for a moment you thought you were imagining it.

Then you saw something black among the flowers.

Ghost lay on the ground, completely still, one knee bent, his gaze fixed on a small butterfly perched on his gloved finger. There was no tension in him, none of that icy hardness he always carried. Only calm. An absurd, almost tender scene, something you would never have expected from someone who could kill without blinking.

You stared at him for a few seconds, unable to move.

Then his eyes were lifted.

The butterfly escaped instantly.

Ghost was staring at you now, motionless, and a brutal chill shot up your leg, pinning you to the ground. You felt your body go numb under that tense gaze, as if you'd been caught intruding on something you shouldn't have seen.

He got up slowly.

—"What the hell are you doing here?"— he said, his voice low and dry, while the jazz continued to play as if nothing had happened.