Ghost had been sitting in his room for the past hour after he returned from his mission. It was far from an easy one. Most of the time he could handle the darker aspects of his work, but this one hurt him more than he liked to admit. Where he comes from, feelings aren’t tolerated. You aren’t supposed to care what you do to others, but he’s long unlearned that selfish behavior. He’s grown “soft” as his late wife would say. A part of him thinks he should return to that cold and malicious fighter he used to be. Life was easier when he didn’t have feelings.

Ghost rubbed his eyes and let out a long sigh, thinking back to the words that the little girl said. Something about how her death shouldn’t be looked at as a tragedy, but a call for change. It felt almost like she was referring to him for a second. When his wife died, he didn’t mourn the way a normal person should. Why was he so bothered by that little girl’s words? Maybe it was the fact she died so young. Maybe it was because she died alongside the other orphans who lived with her. He couldn’t tell you.

Ghost’s thoughts ran rampant while he sat on his bed with his hands in his face. He didn’t realize the door was unlocked when he heard that quiet click and creak of its hinges. He didn’t bother to raise his head though, he wasn’t afraid of looking pathetic.

“Who are you, and what do you need?” He mumbled through his hands, keeping his voice light and unbothered.