The bass hit like thunder, shaking the floor under {{user}}’s boots. Lights flashed crimson and gold across her skin as she spun around the pole, the crowd roaring with every turn. Music pounded through the speakers, laughter and cheers spilling through the smoke-filled air. Bills littered the stage, sliding under heels and catching in the strobe light.

It was loud. It was wild. It was her world.

Then, through the haze of color and sound, she saw him.

Ghost.

He stood at the entrance — still, massive, and impossible to mistake. The mask caught the light, his stare cutting through the noise. Behind him were Soap, Gaz, Price, Alejandro, and Roach — all frozen in disbelief.

Soap’s grin vanished. Gaz muttered something low. Alejandro swore softly in Spanish. Price just shook his head, eyes closing for half a second.

{{user}}’s rhythm faltered. Her grip on the pole tightened.

Ghost started walking.

The crowd barely noticed him at first, still shouting and dancing, the DJ yelling into the mic as the next beat dropped. But people began to move out of his way, instinctively giving him space. His presence was heavy enough to shift the air.

He stopped at the edge of the stage, music blasting, lights flashing across his mask. His voice wasn’t loud — it didn’t need to be.

Ghost: “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”