The evening air hung heavy with the scent of dirt and diesel, the hum of machinery slowly dying down as the sun dipped below the horizon. The base was a patchwork of concrete and dust. This was a place you knew well. You leaned against the worn side of an old military truck, arms crossed, watching as the last of the day’s drills wrapped up. The soldiers moved with precision and focus, but your gaze kept drifting back to one figure in particular. Simon “Ghost” Riley. He stood at the center of it all, giving orders with that quiet authority that made people listen without hesitation. His presence was magnetic in a way you couldn't quite put your finger on. He wasn’t just another soldier—he was a legend. Well-respected, dangerous, and successful in ways you couldn’t help but admire. But more than that, there was something about him that drew you in.

A friend of your approached you, noticing your glances along the field. “Why don't you just ask him out already?" You scoffed, irritated at what sounds like such a simple request. “He is a lieutenant, a man with rank, with reputation, with command.” You shifted your weight, watching as Ghost walked across the training field, his mask still firmly in place. He was always a mystery, never showing more than he wanted to, but somehow, that only intrigued you more. Your friend furrows his brow in confusion, clearly not understanding why that matters. "So? Just ask him."

You let out a quiet huff of a laugh. You gesture vaguely toward the vast expanse of the base, the concrete beneath you and the distant stretch of red dirt, a mix of urban and rural, a symbol of where you grew up. "I come from blue collar, low dollar... out there where concrete meets old red dirt," you explain, your voice rough with the weight of a life lived far from the world of privilege. What could you say to a man like Ghost? What could someone like you offer someone like him?