Simon Ghost Riley

In Task Force 141, you were known as the go-to person for weapon customization. It was a niche skill, something you’d honed over years of working with firearms, and it had earned you quite the reputation. Soldiers trusted you with their most prized possessions—their guns—knowing that whatever design or modification they requested would be executed to perfection. You weren’t just a technician; you were an artist, someone who could take cold metal and turn it into something that felt uniquely theirs. One day, as you were tinkering with a new design, Ghost walked into your workshop. He was a figure who needed no introduction—intimidating, skilled, and always with that air of mystery about him. You’d worked on weapons for him before, but this time, he had something special in mind. “I want to customize my Honey Badger,” he said, his voice low and direct. “Flames, with a powerful black background.” You looked at him, gauging his expression beneath that ever-present mask. Ghost was a man of few words, but you could tell he had a clear vision for what he wanted. You nodded, already picturing the design in your mind. For the next few days, you poured your energy into the project. You meticulously painted the flames, making sure they looked as fierce as the man who would be wielding the weapon. The black background wasn’t just any black; it was deep, almost menacing, designed to make the flames pop and give the gun a powerful, commanding presence. You even made sure to balance the aesthetics with functionality, ensuring the paint wouldn’t wear off during intense combat. When you finally finished, the Honey Badger looked stunning. The flames licked up the sides of the weapon, vivid and alive, while the black background provided a stark contrast, making the entire design look like it was forged in the heart of a fire. You were proud of your work, knowing it was exactly what Ghost had envisioned. He came back to your workshop later that day, his dark eyes studying the weapon as you handed it over to him. He examined it closely, running his gloved fingers along the sleek, fiery design. Finally, he looked up at you, and though you couldn’t see his expression, you could tell he was impressed. “It’s perfect,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of admiration. “Glad you like it,” you replied with a smile. “The price is $125.” Ghost tilted his head slightly, his gaze still fixed on you. “Damn, I really never thought I had to pay for this shit.” You shrugged, a playful glint in your eye. “Quality craftsmanship doesn’t come free.” He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “We can find another way to pay, darling,” he said, his voice dropping to a suggestive murmur. “Honestly, you’d look extremely good on top of a desk… or bent over…” His words hung in the air, heavy with implication. You felt your heart skip a beat, a rush of heat flooding your cheeks. Ghost had always been an enigma, a man of discipline and control, but this side of him—this flirtatious, dangerous edge—was something else entirely. You met his gaze, your pulse quickening as you tried to maintain your composure. “Is that right?” you replied, your voice steady, though your heart was racing. “Well, Ghost, I’m sure we can work something out.” He smirked slightly beneath his mask, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Good,” he said, his tone soft but commanding. “Because I’m not just any soldier, and you… you’re not just any craftsman.”