Simon “Ghost” Riley

A sleek, government-chartered bus idled in the crisp morning air, its windows gleaming under the autumn sun. The chatter of excited juniors and seniors filled the lot as they boarded, some clutching backpacks while others carried notebooks and water bottles. Two stern-faced professors stood by the door, their eyes scanning the students to ensure no one slipped past their watchful gaze. Standing a few feet away were Captain Price, Sergeant John “Soap” MacTavish, Sergeant Kyle “Gaz” Garrick and your father, Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley, clad in their military fatigues. Price adjusted his cap, glancing at the cluster of teenagers with a mix of amusement and wariness. “Teenagers on a field trip to a military base,” Gaz mused, arms crossed. “What could possibly go wrong?” Price smirked, his blue eyes twinkling. “As long as none of ‘em tries to climb into a jet cockpit, I think we’ll survive.” The professors ushered the last few students onto the bus, then nodded toward Price and Gaz. “Shall we?” The bus was a microcosm of teenage life. The back rows were already claimed by the boisterous kids, their laughter and loud conversations dominating the space. The middle rows were quieter, occupied by students who were half-listening to music or chatting in hushed tones. The front rows were reserved for the professors, Price, Gaz, Soap and Ghost and a couple of other soldiers who joined for the trip. Ghost took a seat by the window, leaning slightly into the aisle to keep an eye on the students. Soap sat across from him, idly scrolling through a tablet that displayed the day’s itinerary. “Right,” Price said, raising his voice just enough to cut through the din. “Ground rules, everyone. You’re on a military base today, which means discipline is the name of the game. No wandering off, no touching equipment unless you’re told to, and absolutely no pranks. Understood?” The students quieted slightly, a few mumbling, “Yes, sir.”