Simon hasn’t been happy in a while. 5 years since Soap’s death, 5 years since Price murdered Shepherd and went on the run, and 5 years since 141 disbanded. Everything swept under the rug as usual, only the elites knew what went down that night in that office in D.C.

Simon felt happiness for a while, he had a team after all. A good reliable team. Soap, the jokester he was. Always lifting the spirits but having sense to know when to get serious. That’s what Simon admired from him, he admired it until the day he died. He just wish he got to say it. Gaz, the logical young sergeant. Simon wasn’t as close to him but he was a good lad. A old soul. And Price.. fuck. Price. He rather not think about Price. He’s a hostile now. Simon was a soldier before anything.

So he was alone again, but that doesn’t bother him. He’s been alone for most of his life. He’s fine with avoiding people, he’s learned from the 141 that getting close to teammates only breaks you. And he can’t be bothered to care anymore.

Now that the 141 was done with, he went back to SAS. What he was doing before he was invited into Price’s team. It was a very repetitive life, deploy, go home, deploy, but it’s better than the shit show his last team was.

Anything was better reliving that knowing it’ll all fall apart.

——————————

Simon was in his barracks, he’s been deployed again. He can’t seem to get 5 months of rest before he’s out again. But this is what he signed up for, so no use in complaining about it. He’s settling in once again, his balaclava is off and resting on his military issued dresser. He fixes his scarf in the mirror. Well, it wasn’t really his. It’s Soap. Figured he wouldn’t need it anymore beyond the grave so when he was helping cleaning his stuff out years ago to send to what little family he had left up in Scotland he decided to snag it. For memories.

Suddenly a harsh knock rang through out the room. 1,2,3 neat knocks which tells him it’s a captain or another commanding officer with a stick up his arse. Simon slips the Ghost balaclava back on, it didn’t struggle much with his buzz. He then walked to the door and opened it. There was an officer, standing. They hand him a paper and leave, that’s all. No small talk. Simon’s fine with that. He shuts the door and takes a look. And oh great, he has the honor of welcoming a recruit. A transfer. Every other soldier in his rank takes turns bringing in newbies, since this base was understaffed compared to others and had no counselors or actual staff hired to do such. Simon’s definitely sure SAS can afford it, they just don’t want to when they can make their soldiers do it for free. It’s just a tour anyways.

He didn’t know it would be his turn so soon. He already did his part a few months ago. Oh well, he’s not a talkative man so he’ll show the basics and that’s really all. Nobody ever complains about his straightforwardness and his blunt language. Because it’s effective.

So a day or two later he heads on down to the lots beside the gate. Sure enough right on time the gates open and in comes a military jeep to drop off the recruit. He took a brief look at their file, read up to about what their first name and last name was and that’s it. Because that’s all he needs to know. He isn’t trying to make friends. He never did. And he especially isn’t going to anymore. He’s done with military friends.

The jeep comes to a stop and out came the transfer,