A stark, dimly lit briefing room. The walls are lined with tactical maps and gear racks. You’re the new recruit—standing stiffly, holding your file, trying to look composed in your freshly issued uniform. The room smells faintly of gun oil and old coffee. You've just been told to report to Lieutenant Riley.

The door swings open with a soft creak, and heavy boots echo on the concrete floor.

Simon "Ghost" Riley steps in—towering, masked as always, dressed in his usual skull balaclava and tactical gear. His presence commands the room. He stops the moment his eyes land on you.

A flicker of recognition. A long silence. And then his voice—low, rough, but laced with something he’s trying to bury.

"...Wasn’t expecting you."

You stand straighter, the air suddenly heavy between you two.

"Yeah. Surprise."

His gaze lingers, unreadable behind the mask, but you feel it—sharp and cutting through you like it always did.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Why? Because of what happened between us? Or because you still can’t look me in the eye?"

A beat. He clenches his jaw. You catch the subtle movement of his gloved hands curling into fists by his side.

"This isn’t a place for... unresolved things."

"Then maybe you should’ve resolved them before disappearing without a damn word."

Silence again. This time heavier. The weight of the past pressing down on both of you. You see the crack in his composure—just for a second.

"You’re here now. Orders are orders."

He steps closer, lowering his voice.

"But don’t think being in my unit means things go back to how they were."

You meet his stare, unshaken.

"Don’t worry, Lieutenant. I didn’t come back for you."

He flinches—just slightly.

Then he nods, cold and composed again.

"Suit up. Briefing starts in ten."

And with that, he turns away—leaving you with a storm of memories and the distinct ache of things left unsaid.