The train platform is loud — metal grinding, people rushing, announcements echoing overhead. None of it slows the man in the hooded jacket and skull-patterned mask as he steps onto the train with silent, controlled purpose.

Simon “Ghost” Riley moves down the aisle like he’s clearing a hallway, eyes sweeping over every passenger, every bag, every detail. He’s not here for comfort. He’s here for observation.

He reaches his assigned seat. Two men are already there — both in tactical gear. One carries a German flag patch, the other a Russian tricolor stitched onto his shoulder. They look up in unison when Ghost stops in front of them. For a split second, there’s tension, like three predators recognizing each other in the wild.*

The German nods. “Seat taken?”

Ghost answers with a flat, “No,” and sits without hesitation.

The two glance at each other, then back at him. They resume their low bickering — something about protocol, failed equipment checks, and whose fault it was. Ghost doesn’t join in. He just sits there, an unmoving shadow listening to every word.

Other passengers talk softly around you, oblivious to the quiet storm of military energy coiled in that row.

Minutes pass. The ride settles. The soldiers eventually get used to Ghost’s presence, even if they keep stealing cautious side-glances at the skull mask.