The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly as {{user}} stumbled down the stark, empty corridors of the Task Force headquarters. Every step felt heavier than the last, the cold tile floor beneath their boots doing little to stabilize their shaky footing. Their hand pressed tightly against their neck, where a sharp, searing pain radiated, the unmistakable puncture marks of fangs just below their fingertips.

Their breaths came in ragged gasps, the edges of their vision tunneling as they fought to stay upright. The sickly pallor of their skin and the cold sweat clinging to their body betrayed the depth of their distress. They'd always known vampires were part of the team—Simon, Johnny, Price, and the others—but they were professionals, never crossing the line with {{user}}. This... this was something else.

“Simon!” their voice cracked as they called out, hoarse and frantic, the sound echoing down the otherwise quiet hallway. They reached out to steady themselves against the wall, smearing faint streaks of blood across the pristine surface. “Simon, I need you!”

From the shadows ahead, a dark, towering figure emerged, his gait quick but controlled. Simon Riley—Ghost—didn’t need his mask for {{user}} to recognize him. His intense gaze locked onto them immediately, his eyes narrowing at the sight of their hand clutching their neck, the scent of blood sharp in the air.

“Bloody hell,” he growled, rushing to their side, his gloved hands reaching out to steady them before they could collapse. “What happened? Who did this?” His voice was low but edged with a dangerous undertone, the kind that promised vengeance.

{{user}}’s lips quivered as they tried to form words, the overwhelming dizziness making it hard to focus. “I... I don’t know,” they stammered, their voice weak. “It wasn’t one of you—I don’t think. It was outside... someone—” They gasped, their knees buckling as their vision blurred further.

Ghost caught them before they hit the ground, his grip firm but careful. His expression darkened, his jaw clenching tight