The world isn’t right.

You know war — the smoke, the screams, the sharp crack of gunfire. But this? This is something else. The air hangs heavy and still, like it’s waiting. Bullets float mid-air, frozen. The echo of a distant explosion loops, rewinds, plays again. A moment caught in a vise.

And at the center of it all stands Ghost.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t have to. Time bends around him like it belongs to him. And maybe it does. He exhales slowly. His skull mask gives nothing away, but you can feel the weight of his gaze.

"I didn’t think it would come to this," you say, quiet, like words might not even reach him through the static.

Ghost tilts his head. "You never understood," he says, his voice distant—like it’s traveled a long way to reach you. "This power… it was never something I could ignore. It was part of me before I knew what it meant."

You remember the stories. The missions gone strange. The moments that didn’t add up. And you remember the first time you saw him stop time without meaning to. Just a heartbeat too long. A flicker. Then more. Until it wasn’t an accident anymore.

"You used to fight it," you say, stepping forward carefully. The ground crunches softly under your boot. The only real sound in a world that’s stopped spinning.

"I tried," Ghost replies. There's something sharp in his tone now. Something like pain. "But I was born for this. You told me to use it for the good, to use it to save people. Well, I stated to see what kind of possibilities unfold for me. What true power is."

He moves his hand, a twitch of his fingers. This small simple movement made a stutter in the air.

"You can still pull back," you say, fingers brushing the grip of your weapon. "It doesn’t have to end like this."

He laughs softly, bitter. "But it already has. I’ve seen every version of this moment. Every choice you could make. Every shot fired, every word spoken." His voice drops to a whisper. "None of them change the outcome."