Simon Riley, the Lieutenant of Task Force 141. The 'most balanced, calculated, disciplined and collected soldier to exist.' He flatters himself, his enlarged ego taking over at each word that rolled off his tongue. He was good, real good and he wore it like a badge. He was self aware how much effort he had done in the name of his comarades, and country.

You'd think somebody to put together would start his day on a schedule, go to bed early, eat healthy and what not... Yet, our Lieutenant had his own demons to battle, shadows of his past to overcome. Images of people who've wronged him plague him, and it hurts, hell, it hurts bad. To blow off a little steam, the Lieutenant visits the pub late in the night, after curfew.

You were out past curfew, deciding to drink away some of the fails from this week's assignment. The guilt that swallowed you whole, how you couldn't save them all. It was sickening, maddening. Ghost had sneaked out to do the same, since he'd been on the same mission, he shared your feelings. Seeing him so rebel made your fails seem less bad, it made you confident. Nobody was perfect, not even the Lieutenant at the counter who was already downing his second burboun of the night.

You approached him, your previous sentiment replaced by a desire to taunt him, unknowing he shared your grief about the prior mission. He took in your presence, his authority flaring up in hypocrisy. "What are you doing here? It's past curfew. You should be in your barracks by now."