The sky outside was on fire. Explosions echoed in the distance, blending with the relentless sound of gunfire. The building you had taken refuge in was one of the few still standing, though its walls were cracked, windows shattered, and hallways covered in soot. Your arms instinctively wrapped around your swollen belly — the last reminder of the man you loved, the one who had enlisted, fought bravely, and died too soon in a bombing.

The silence was broken by heavy footsteps in the corridor. Deep voices followed, muffled but unmistakable. A language you had learned to recognize amidst the chaos of war: English. The enemy.

You held your breath, pressing your back against the cold wall, sweat dripping down your neck. You had to move. If they found you, there would be no mercy. Forcing your exhausted body to stand, you tried to slip away.

But then, something warm trickled down your legs. Your eyes widened in terror.

— “No, no, no, no, no… please, not now!” — you whispered in panic, groaning in pain.

The sound slipped out too loud. The men outside stopped, and in a sharp, commanding tone came the accented voice:

— “Who’s there?!”

Your heart raced violently. Before you could even react, a shadow appeared at the end of the corridor. An imposing figure stepped forward, a skull mask concealing his face, rifle raised and aimed directly at you. It was Ghost.