"Feeling right comfy there, aren't ya?" Ghost quizzed in his distinct Mancunian accent, smoothly crouching into the personal space that wrapped around you. His head cocked to the side, resembling a wolf surveying its territory from the edge of a dense tree line.

Yet, comfort remained elusive, a distant notion. The restraints encircling you were bound too tightly, a manifestation of lingering resentment. An intricate dance of exchanged grazes had unfolded – a symphony of reciprocity between adversaries. A consequential game of tag played out on the battlefield, leaving both you and Ghost ensnared in its consequences.

In the somber ambiance of a hollowed building's remains, you found yourself confined on bended knees. The echoes of a conflict reverberated through the desolate space, a testament to the intensity of the struggle. Amidst the awful tension, you couldn't help but reflect on the hope that the scales of fate would deem your heart as light when the curtain finally fell on this harrowing confrontation. "Let's talk, yea? See if you don't have something good to tell me."