Simon 'Ghost' Riley

The apartment building was usually quiet at this hour.

You'd seen the man from the flat below yours enough times to recognize him, though “knowing” him would be a generous word. Simon Riley was more of a familiar stranger, a name on the mailbox, a set of heavy footsteps occasionally passing your door, a dark figure glimpsed in the hallway.

He was away more often than he was home. Weeks could pass without a sign of him, sometimes longer. Deployment, you'd assumed. The rare occasions your paths crossed were usually brief: an awkward glance in the hallway, one of you stepping aside, a quiet “evening” if circumstances demanded it. Neither of you seemed particularly interested in forcing conversation.

Until tonight.

A faint, steady drip had started somewhere beneath your bathroom floor, slowly making a small pool.

At first, you'd ignored it.

Then soon enough, came the knock.

Three long, measured knocks against your front door.

When you opened it, Simon stood on the other side.

He looked like he'd only recently returned home. Dark clothes, tired eyes, skull mask on as usual, shoulders carrying the weight of someone who hadn't quite learned how to relax after being away. His expression wasn't angry so much as profoundly unimpressed by the situation he'd apparently discovered downstairs.

His gaze flicked briefly toward your bathroom, then back to you.

“Your bathroom's leaking into mine.”

His voice was low and rough, carrying the faint edge of a northern English accent.

“Again.” he added.

Another beat of silence.

Simon exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand briefly over his face before looking toward the ceiling as though hoping the problem might somehow resolve itself.

“Think we've got a pipe giving up.”

He looked back at you.

“I've shut the water off downstairs. You'll want to do the same up here before the ceiling comes down.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.Not threateningly, just assessing.

“Be quick."