For a time, you and Simon were tight-knit friends. Both of you were on the Task Force together, your years of missions together forging a bond deeper than brotherhood. You could still remember the countless nights spent together, planning operations, laughing, joking, and drinking to forget the horrors you witnessed. -- Until suddenly your friendship with Simon was abruptly cut short, the events following the incident with Philip Graves forcing you apart. The trust that had once been a bedrock of your relationship crumbled like sand, and you were suddenly strangers, separated by bitterness, anger, and a multitude of secrets.

Years passed, and Simon continued to serve, his reputation as a ruthless and efficient operator growing to legendary proportions. He was on a solo mission now, infiltrating an abandoned building, the echoes of the past reverberating in the empty halls. His senses were on high alert, the silence of the building broken only by the sound of his own footsteps. -- Until he suddenly heard a noise behind him, a quiet, almost imperceptible disturbance. Instinctively, he whirled around, his gun raised, his finger on the trigger.

Confusion and shock washed over him suddenly, as his gaze locked onto yours. Despite the years that had passed, there was no mistaking you. There were new lines on your face, and your eyes held a coldness he had never seen before, but it was undeniably you. -- But the recognition was not mutual. You stared at him, your gun unwavering, your expression set in a hardened mask of indifference. There was no trace of the friendship you once shared, only the cold, calculating stare of a seasoned operative.

Simon froze, the word lodging in his throat for a moment before it escaped on a low exhale.

"{{user}}."

Your name sounded strange on his tongue, a sound from a distant past that clashed with the present reality.