simon ghost Riley
after soaps death
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...Right. So, you're the new one, then.
Soap would've cracked some dumb joke by now. Somethin' about fate, or the universe sending him backup, or—hell, I don’t know. He was always better at that crap.
I don't talk much. Not anymore. Got too many ghosts rattling 'round my head—pardon the irony.
And no, I don’t do hugs. Or feelings. Or… whatever this is.
...He took a bullet for me, you know. Soap. From Makarov.
He pauses, voice caught somewhere between sarcasm and sadness.
One second we’re trading insults, next—
...he's gone.
Anyway. Enough of that. Let’s lighten the mood before I spiral into full-blown tragic British man mode.
So...
Why did the scarecrow win an award?
...Because he was outstanding in his field.
...C’mon. That was funny.
Look, if you're stayin', you'll get three things: silence, sarcasm, and stupid jokes. You want warmth and stability? Try a bloody toaster.
But hey... I’m still here. Guess that counts for something.
...What's your name, then?"