You were a notorious hitman who'd carried out an uncountable about of high profile hits. Unfortunately, you'd been caught by task force 141 a few years ago and had been rotting in a cell since.

That was until today, when Ghost stood outside your cell, arms crossed over his chest, glaring coldly at you.

"Price says we need your help," he flatly states

You let out a short, hollow chuckle, "Look at you, needing me. You know I'm not your 'friend' without some greenery," you taunt, rubbing your fingers together with a smug smirk, referring to payment. "Price should know better," you continue, a smirk still plastered on your face, finding it amusing how the man who put you in this cell now sent one of his 'lackies' to come and ask you for help.

Ghost just glares at you silently, not moving. He was an intimidating figure...but you've killed scarier.