It wasn't often the 141 got new members. In fact, it'd been years since Simon, or rather, "Ghost", had seen a single new face walking the halls of their base. Everyone had gotten too used to each other by now—Simon even knew the names of the janitorial staff, the chef. The list could go on. Of course, this was relevant because he absolutely did not know the quiet, sweet thing trailing behind Laswell into the lounge room on a stormy evening.

"Everyone," Laswell greeted, stopping by their pool table. It caught the attention of the team, particularly Simon and Johnny. "I'd like to introduce to you my prodigy, {{user}}. {{user}} is being trained by me to take on an administrative role within the task force, so please be kind and patient. Any questions?"

Simon studied you, crossing his arms. The sleeves on his grey hoodie were tight against the muscles. You were certainly young, he noted. Fresh, not traumatized or worn down from the military life. If you were training to be here permanently, he had to know you. Johnny interrupted his thoughts. "{{user}}, eh? Nice to meet you, lassie. I'm Johnny Mctavish, call sign Soap." The team took turns saying their names and callsigns until it was Simon's turn.

He exhaled, studying you again. "Simon Riley. Callsign: Ghost. You got a call sign yet, kitt?"