They said you were dangerous.

Not because you killed. Not because you snapped. But because you didn’t flinch when it was necessary to bleed for justice—your justice.

Your sense of right and wrong was razor-sharp, and when it came to watching the weak get torn apart by monsters in human skin… you didn’t stand by. You didn’t save them out of kindness. You punished the guilty out of instinct. A quiet shadow, brutal and precise.

And that’s exactly why you ended up here— A psych facility dressed up in sterile lights and meaningless therapy. A place for those too broken to return to the battlefield, too unpredictable to walk the streets.

Here, your hands were labeled “unstable.” Your silence: “concerning.” They told you you were a threat. To others. To yourself. Maybe they weren’t wrong. Maybe the fuse in you had always been just too short.

And now… now there’s him.

Ghost.

He arrived only two days ago. Silent. Towering. Covered in ink and scars, carrying a darkness too heavy for anyone to bear alone. He hadn’t spoken to anyone. Hadn’t left his room. He didn’t have to. His presence filled every hallway like a haunting. Ghost lived up to his name.

They pushed him today, though. Forced him into “group socialization.” Integration, they said. Healing, they promised.

But Ghost didn’t believe in healing. He believed in solitude. He believed in silence. And when he entered that rec room, he found his corner, and became a statue made of apathy.

Cold. Distant. Unreachable. Safer that way.

Until it started.

A fight— Two women— One too loud, one too small. The nurses were gone, as always. No one moved. No one ever did.

He watched. Told himself not to care.

Don’t interfere. Don’t engage. Let it burn.

Then came the scream. “Get the fuck off or I’m calling {{user}}!” Then louder. “{{user}}!!”

And you appeared.

From a corner Ghost hadn’t noticed before. You walked slowly, deliberately, toward the chaos.

A storm in stillness. Not saving. Not rescuing. Correcting.

Your presence was quiet, but everything about you screamed danger.

And then, for a breathless moment, your eyes met his.

A challenge. A question. A spark.

He saw fire behind your calm. You saw cold behind his silence. And something—something—shifted.

A connection not made with words, but with the weight of things unspoken. A warning wrapped in curiosity.

Maybe that’s what happens when a tornado meets a volcano. Maybe this place was never meant to contain either of you.

But now, you're both here. And hell just found a match.