The bar was near-empty, lit like the edge of a bad memory. You pushed the door open, and the sound broke through the dull hum of a low radio. There he was, your lieutenant, Ghost, hunched over the counter, mask lowered just enough to sip whatever burned in his glass. His shoulders were drawn, big and tense, the sleeves of his jacket rolled up to the forearms, tattoos dark in the light. Empty glasses scattered to his right.

He didn’t move when you entered. Not at first. But then his head tilted, slowly, like a wolf catching scent. His pale eyes locked onto yours from behind the mask, sharp, slow, dangerous.

"{{user}}" His voice was rough, deeper than usual. His gaze didn’t shift. He didn’t look away. He just stared… and waited.

"You follow me here... or you just like watching me fall apart?"