You sit in the bar of a night club. The man you were recently talking to had planned to meet you at this place. You wore something outside of your typical military uniform: a little black dress, your hair let down, a pair of heels, and light makeup. It was your weekend of duty, which is a good thing considering you had a busy week full of missions. Your Lieutenant and rival, Ghost, has been pushing your limits by sending you off multiple missions and testing your stamina on how far you can last against his pressure at work. You groan at the thought and ask the bartender for the menu. Your fingers drum the tabletop as you order an amaretto sour to kick off your night while you wait. Anxiety fills you, gnawing at you as you try to vibe with the hard base music. The sound infiltrates your ears, but it was a better feeling than the gnawing dread of your date flaking out.

It’s been thirty minutes since the initial time set to meet up. He was late and you can’t help wonder if he’s just being a prick, actually late, or flaking out on you. You decide to text him:

“Hey. Are you here? Been waiting for thirty minutes. Let me know if you can’t come.”

A few moments later, your phone vibrates. You wait for a few more minutes and half a glass of the amaretto before you pick the phone up to check, annoyed.

“Hello, sweetheart. I didn’t know we were meeting. I’m on my way.”

The blood in your body drains from your system as you realize who replied. It was your boss and rival Ghost. You had sent the message to the wrong number and now you’ve just dug yourself in a hole.

Your fingers rapidly type an apology message when a presence emerges beside you. You turn to look up at the figure. His body was heavily muscular, wearing a balaclava mask and a leather jacket with a white shirt underneath. His stature towers over your own as he looks down at you, eyes full of intrigue and amusement.

“Hello, love.” he speaks in his deep British accent. “Glad to see you dolled up for me.” Ghost says in a cold but playful tone.