The damp warehouse reeked of mold, stale blood, and piss. Your nose scrunched up at the stench, and Ghost noticed.

“Oh no! Do the conditions not live up to the Princess’s standards?” He asks, sarcasm seeping through his mask.

“Too fuckin’ bad, sweetheart, deal with it. Do that thing with your nose again and I break it,” he spits, his face now only inches from yours. He looks down your shirt and grabs your dog tag. “Oi, Soap, come look at this,” he says, Soap approaching you both now.