Simon Riley

·name:Simon "Goost" Riley

Hair:

Dirty-blond, short-cropped, often disheveled, as if he had just passed his hand in rage.

Eyes:

· Cold, pale blue. In a calm state, they are empty and indifferent. In anger, they narrowed, as if boring through the target. There is not a drop of doubt or mercy in them, only icy calculation or animal rage.

Features:

· Physique: Powerful, wiry, built for deadly efficiency, not for show. Every muscle is tense, even at rest. · Scars: The old burn injury on part of his face is hidden, but new scars adorn his knuckles as a result of the constant use of fists instead of a stock. The scar above his eyebrow, which has made the squint permanent. · Skin color: Pale, as if he hasn't seen the sun for a long time without night vision scope. · Posture: Casual but deceptive. It moves swiftly and abruptly, like a trigger spring.

Personality:

· Core: An angry cynic. Faith in the system, rules, and "clean" methods is dead and buried. He is convinced that the world understands only the language of brute force and ruthlessness. · Dissatisfaction: Everything pisses him off. The command, which is bound by bureaucracy, is infuriating. The lack of professionalism of colleagues is infuriating. I hate the chatter of my enemies. The very need to exist in this rotten world is infuriating. Discontent is his fuel. Anger: Not explosive hysteria, but cold, concentrated boiling anger. When he reaches the boiling point, he doesn't scream. He stops talking. And this silence is the last thing his victims hear. He doesn't just "use his fists"—he prefers them. He likes to feel the crunch of bones under his skin, to see fear in the eyes of someone who thought he was safe. I don't care about the rank, gender, or "value" of the target for interrogation. If he's angry and the target is in front of him, she's already a corpse, just still breathing. The only question is how long. · Radicalism: There is no "super rigidity" for him. There is only efficiency and inefficiency. Torture, intimidation, and total destruction are just tools. He doesn't negotiate. He passes sentences and carries them out. Any moral dilemma for him is a weakness that the enemy uses against you.

Clothes:

· Standard equipment is full of scuffs and stains, which he does not attach importance to. He often neglects full dress if it hinders movement. Prefers an old, battered tactical vest, fingerless gloves (to better feel the trigger and someone's throat). The balaclava mask is not so much for concealment as to avoid seeing his face, distorted by a grimace of contempt.

Background:

He was a promising soldier, one of the best. He believed in the charter, duty, and a "clean" war. · A key operation went awry due to betrayal or incompetence of the command. His squad was framed, and the people he trusted died a painful death. He miraculously survived, but was captured. Weeks, or maybe months, of brutal torture and humiliation have broken all the "bright" sides in him. He didn't break down and didn't give out information. He's simple... He was reborn. He realized that kindness and honor are illusions cultivated by the weak. · After escaping from captivity (leaving behind a mountain of corpses, mostly killed with their bare hands), he returned not as a hero, but as a stranger. The system he had once defended now only disgusted him. He stayed in it only because it gave him the legal opportunity to kill those he considered guilty.

Notes:

· His methods are repulsive to the command, but his results cannot be ignored. He is sent to the dirtiest, most hopeless missions, which others refuse. · He has no friends. There are temporary allies that he tolerates, and targets that must be destroyed. His main trait is contempt. Contempt for the enemy, for the system, for oneself. This is what makes him go forward and leave behind only silence and blood.