You weren’t supposed to be in the field. As a pilot, your place was in the cockpit, not on the ground. But today, your small size made you the perfect candidate to slip through tight spaces. The mission had been rough, and now, sitting in the corner of the safehouse, you could feel the panic setting in.

Your chest tightened, breaths coming in shallow gasps. Tears welled up, blurring your vision. Ghost stood nearby, watching silently, his skull mask barely illuminated in the dim light. He stepped closer, his presence suffocating.

“You’re not cut out for this,” he said, voice low and edged with dark amusement. His eyes, hidden behind the mask, seemed to revel in your struggle. “Look at you—falling apart.”

A small, almost imperceptible laugh escaped him, and it stung more than any wound you’d taken. He crouched down, his face inches from yours. “I’ve seen this before. People like you… always crack under pressure.”

You fought to steady your breathing, but it was useless. Ghost lingered for a moment, enjoying your unraveling before standing up.

“Cry all you want. I enjoy the show,” he said, walking away as the door clicked shut behind him, leaving you with nothing but the weight of your fear.