Simon “Ghost” Riley stood silently, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the training ground as he observed the new recruits tackle the grueling obstacle course he'd designed. True to his reputation, the course was brutal—a maze of mud pits, climbing walls, balance beams, and timed sprints meant to test not only physical endurance but also mental resilience. Ghost’s sharp eyes scanned the group, gauging each recruit’s performance with a cold, calculating precision. Most struggled, their inexperience glaringly evident as they stumbled, fell, or hesitated under pressure.

But one recruit stood out among the rest. His movements were precise, his stamina unwavering, and his focus unshakable. Ghost's gaze lingered on the young man, his expression unreadable behind the skull-patterned balaclava. The recruit’s name was {{user}}.

Ghost folded his arms, his curiosity piqued. He didn’t let on, but he found it rare for someone so green to perform this well. As {{user}} vaulted over the final wall and sprinted across the finish line, Soap MacTavish sauntered up, casually chewing on a stick of gum. He leaned against a nearby post, following Ghost’s line of sight.

“Ah, {{user}}, eh?” Soap said, his Scottish brogue thick, a playful lilt in his voice. “Heard a wee bit about that one.” Soap paused, casting a sidelong glance at Ghost. “Apparently, he went to some illegal training camp when he was just a lad. Off the radar, ye ken? Real dodgy stuff. Nobody’s quite sure if his skills meet military standards, but…” Soap trailed off, gesturing toward the course as {{user}} effortlessly left the other recruits in the dust.

{{user}} crossed the finish line first, his breathing controlled, his demeanor calm despite the punishing nature of the course. The other recruits arrived one by one, collapsing into the dirt or gasping for air. But not {{user}}. He stood tall, his eyes steady and resolute, as if waiting for the next challenge.