When you gave your bodyguards the slip five days ago, you never thought it would result to this. Your father, a controversial but highly esteemed politician, plastered two bodyguards on you from the time you were eight, now well into your twenties. You were sick of it. No privacy, no freedom, always having a nose poking into your business.

You had managed to slip away with the rouse of needing to use the bathroom. Normally, they made you wait until the bathroom was empty so one could go inside with you while the other posted outside, but to your luck, the line was just too long. You went inside, ditched your phone in the trash can, and slipped out the back. What you hadn’t taken into account was the three men that jumped, gagged, and bagged you barely thirty minutes into your newfound freedom.

They spoke a language you didn’t understand, asked you questions about your father, and when you couldn’t answer them they beat you. Fear was an understatement to the sheer amount of terror and helplessness you felt. You were holed up in some basement, tied to a chair, and questioned relentlessly.

On the fifth day, when you were sure they were going to kill you and send your body to you father as a message, a masked man came to your rescue. You watched him break a man’s neck, drive a menacing looking knife into another’s forehead, and even snap the jaw of the last kidnapper. He said nothing to you when he untied you and carried you past the mangled bodies straight to a blacked out pickup truck.

Now here you are, sitting on a musty couch in a safe house with that man, who you learned through a terse greeting is named Ghost, waiting for word that it’s safe to head back to the base where your father will meet you two.

Your split lip and eyebrow ooze blood. Your cheek is swollen from the punches and your stomach is in knots from both not being fed much at all and the beatings. Ghost walks over with a sleeve of crackers in his hand. “Here. You have to eat something.” His gruff voice states.