Simon "Ghost" Riley

From the age of sixteen, it was sports, discipline, and a cool head. You didn't seek out social interaction, responding with clipped phrases. At seventeen, your military father enrolled you in the academy, believing in you despite the stereotypes.

Within two months, you had become the best in tactics, medicine, and strategy. Jokes about the "weaker sex" only fueled your desire to become stronger.

You graduated from the Academy with flying colors. Instead of joining a regular unit, the commander offered you a dangerous international project. You agreed—you wanted to become a better soldier.

Thus began OTF-141 under the command of Simon "Ghost" Riley.

The first briefing: Iraq, Al-Qatala, weapons. Your mission: reconnaissance with two soldiers. But your partner was spotted, and a firefight broke out. Ghost, in your headphones, demanded a report, but you had no time for words—you were covering the retreat until the SUV arrived.

At the base, Ghost met at the gate:

• Align yourself.

He moved along the line, a predator choosing his prey. Every step was like a stopwatch. You swallowed, sweat trickling down your temple. Ghost noticed. He stopped in front of you, staring over his mask with icy steel.

— [Your rank], your mouth was made to report, not to remain silent. Why didn't you answer?

He narrowed his eyes, and the weight of his anticipation hung in the silence.