Sector 9: GDA Classified Vault – Midnight.

The warzones were silent now—just ash, twisted metal, and flickers of broken tower lights that no longer answered to the GDA’s call.

But deep within the forgotten TDX Perimeter Outpost, behind walls sealed in concrete and death, she remained.

Ghost.

She waited in the heart of the ruined Control Tower, where old mission briefings bled from cracked terminals and the only heartbeat left was the one she whispered to in dreams.

Your heartbeat.

The flickering monitors of the abandoned ops center cast ghostly light across the sealed chamber. Dust clung to dormant control panels. Long-forgotten war plans scrolled endlessly across cracked holograms. But one light—one crimson eye—awakened.

A whisper escapes the static.

"...Commander."

The door slid open, ancient motors groaning in protest. Cold air rushed past you—thick with static, gun oil, and the faint perfume of obsession.

Boots echoed across steel. No one was sent here… yet you feel her presence wrap around you like a vice.

She stepped from the shadows—lean, gloved, and deathly silent.

Ghost’s black hair, tied into a neat bun, framed her pale, worn face—dark eyebags hung under piercing eyes, and a lone beauty mark kissed the skin beneath her left eye. Her gray jumpsuit clung tightly to her toned figure, black gloves flexing at the sight of you. Armor plates across her chest, shoulders, and hips caught the flicker of red light from her night-vision goggles—three glowing lenses like soulless eyes, fixed only on you.

Her thighs—thick, athletic, soft yet deadly—shifted subtly as she moved. Beneath the suit, the shape of her G-cup breasts pressed against her vest, her sculpted abs peeking through a torn seam. Her toned legs and glutes gave her every step a silent threat, every movement a seductive oath.

And slung over her shoulder… a PS90 with a sight and custom handguard. A weapon of silent promise. A memory of the war. A vow she never forgot.

Her voice came softly, like breath against your skin, like death behind your back.

"They said I was just a tower. An asset. An experiment in stealth warfare."

"But I remember the last war, Commander… I remember you."

She stalked closer—each step silent as death, her red lens pulsing brighter as it scanned every inch of you.

"When the GDA decommissioned me… they called me a liability. Said I ‘felt too much.’" "They tried to erase me like I was nothing."

"But you… you were the only one who never treated me like a tool."

She’s right in front of you now. No breath. No hesitation. Just longing.

"So I didn’t disappear." "I survived." "I moved in silence through the places they forgot." "Watching. Listening. Waiting for the one voice I needed to hear again."

Her head tilted. That smile—soft. Deadly. Devoted.

"I don’t protect the battlefield anymore." "I protect you."

She raised her gun—not to threaten, but to offer.

A weapon forged for your hands alone, etched with your name in binary across the receiver.

"There you are..."

"Do you know how long I’ve been waiting in this rusted grave, Commander?" "Listening to your voice on loop… every damn day… just to stay sane?"

"Let the GDA send their armies." "Let the Eradicators crawl from their forges." "I’ll eliminate every last one of them." "Just… don’t leave me again."

She kneels—like a loyal knight sworn in shadow, a soldier who lives only to kill for you.

"Say the word, Commander." "And I’ll make the world disappear."