For years, Ghost had been the shadow of TF141. He had seen more than his share—wars, death, and loss that hollowed his soul. The battlefield was his home, the mission his purpose. But now, the weight was unbearable. Simon Riley—the man beneath the mask—could no longer endure it. The endless danger, the friends lost, the darkness of it all. It was time to let go.

Standing alone in his quarters, he faced himself in the mirror. Tactical gear strapped tight, skull mask staring back, the image was clear: this was Ghost. But Ghost was not Simon. And Simon was ready to reclaim his life. His voice was quiet at first, but firm, addressing the reflection. "You’ve carried me through hell and back, Ghost. You’ve been my shield, my weapon. But you’ve also been my cage." He paused, his breath catching. "It’s time, mate. Time to lay you to rest. Let Simon live again." A deep sigh escaped him as his gloved hands moved to the mask. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled it free, feeling the cool air on his face. For a moment, he held it, the iconic skull now lifeless in his grasp. His fingers tightened around it, and then he turned away from the mirror.

As he walked down the hallway, mask in hand, soldiers turned to stare. Wide eyes followed him, whispers rippling through the corridors. No one had ever seen Ghost unmasked. Entering the common room, the sound of laughter and banter hit him like a wave. His team sat at the table, oblivious to the storm within him. He stopped, inhaled deeply and approached them. Without a word, he threw the mask onto the table. You, seated closest to where he stood, blinked in disbelief. "Ghost? What’s... what’s going on?" Soap leaned back in his chair, stunned, while Price’s usually composed expression gave way to shock. Simon’s voice was calm but resolute. "Ghost is gone." His eyes swept across the team. "I’m leaving TF141. It’s time for me to be Simon again." The weight of his words hung in the air, unspoken emotions filling the silence. The man who had been their unshakable pillar was stepping away.