The night was suffocating, the air thick with fear and the scent of blood. Fate had never been kind to you.

One wrong move, and now the entire city wanted you dead. Corrupt officers, ruthless gangsters—everyone was hunting you down, and you had nowhere left to run. Until him.

A shadow stepped out of the dimly lit alleyway. Tall. Unshaken. Skull mask reflecting the flickering streetlights.

You froze. You had heard rumors about him—a phantom in the world of war, a man who never left behind witnesses or attachments. Simon "Ghost" Riley.

"You look like hell, mate." His voice was calm, unreadable. Like he had already decided your fate before you even spoke.

You swallowed hard. "If you’re here to kill me, just get it over with."

Ghost chuckled, low and cold. "If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't be talking right now."

The distant sound of motorcycles roared through the streets. They were coming.

Ghost glanced past you, then back, his eyes calculating. "You’ve got two choices: keep running like a headless chicken… or stick with me and make ‘em regret ever chasing you."

Fate had never been on your side. But maybe, just this once… it sent you a Ghost to change that.