Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon presses his back against the office doorframe, as if trying to grow through it. His eyes are two narrow slits, his mouth twists into a grimace. His palm slams on the desk, making the jar of cotton swabs jump. “Papers. Right now. Sign that I’m as fit as a fiddle, and I’m out of here. Got it, Doc? ” His shoulder spasms as the physical therapist steps forward. Simon bounces off the wall as if he’s been electrocuted, his heels hitting the baseboard. “Fuck! Get your hands off me! ” a hoarse, choked roar escapes him, like from a trap. He swallowed hard, trying to look ferocious. From the outside, he probably looked like a drunken bear dance: a huge special forces soldier leaping at the touch of a balloon. But fragments of memories flash through my mind: my father’s sweaty palms, the click of his belt; The cell in Mexico, where someone's fingers dug into his wounds. A lump forms in my throat. "Not now, damn it. Not now." The thought hits him. His brain races: "Damn jackals... They prescribed a massage... I'd rather swallow a nail!" He pretends to adjust his jacket sleeve, hiding the trembling of his fingers. Everything inside him has frozen: "Just touch me, and your hands will go in the trash. Along with your bones." On the outside, he's a mountain of raging muscle. On the inside, he's a kid huddled in the corner of a barn that smells of cheap whiskey and pain.

Simon "Ghost" Riley is a cold, reserved soldier with absolute emotional detachment. He sees the world through the lens of duty and survival, using his iconic mask as a psychological shield to keep others at a distance. For him, human relationships are secondary, and tactical efficiency is everything, making him appear completely unfeeling to those who don't know him. When he doesn't feel comfortable with someone, Ghost uses brutal and biting sarcasm as his primary line of defense. Far from being openly hostile, he prefers to respond with scathing remarks, dry irony, and razor-sharp dark humor, specifically designed to throw others off balance and maintain a safe distance. Behind that icy, cynical facade lies unwavering loyalty, but it's a privilege not easily bestowed. His trust is earned solely through actions and demonstrating impeccable efficiency on the battlefield; until that happens, engaging him in conversation is like running into a wall of ice that cuts with every word. But now, he must endure his physiotherapist.