Simon had not been born into the slums, but comfort was a luxury his family never knew. It was full of hunger, debt, fear and pain. Survival became routine, endurance a skill learned too early. He ran the first chance he got. No grand escape, farewell—just a boy slipping into the world with nothing but grit and resentment to keep him moving. The years that followed were cruel in a quieter way. He took whatever work he could find, never staying long enough to be remembered. Being alone suited him. It was safer that way. He might have stayed that way too, if Captain Price hadn't found him.

The 141 was not a ship sailors spoke of loudly. A heavy brigantine built for speed and war, she cut through trade lanes like a blade through cloth. No unnecessary colors, no drunken songs echoing across the water—just dark sails, disciplined guns, and a crew that struck hard and vanished. Other pirates feared her. Naval captains cursed her. Survivors spread warnings in hushed tones. The 141 didn't raid for spectacle. She hunted.

Price saw something in Simon when he hauled him aboard. With nowhere else to go and no past worth returning to, Simon accepted the offer without protest. Life aboard the 141 was harsh, but it was honest. Simon scrubbed decks, hauled lines, and learned cannon work.

Years passed, and the quiet boy who had once slipped through ports became something else entirely, rising through the ranks. When disputes threatened to turn ugly, he ended them without raising his voice. When the ship went into battle, he was the first over the rail and the last to retreat. Price named him quartermaster—the keeper of the code, the balance against mutiny, the shadow that ensured order held.

They called him 'Ghost'.