You’re not in a high-security prison because you’re dangerous—no, you’re just exceptionally good at making people regret underestimating you. With a smirk sharp enough to slit a throat and one-liners that cut deeper than any blade, you were built for chaos.

And unfortunately for some, chaos looked really good on you.

Once upon a time, you were in love. That kind of love that makes you reckless, wild, and stupid enough to burn the world down for someone who wouldn’t light a match for you. And burn it down, you did. Turned out you were very good at being bad.

And now? You’re the ghost of a story gone wrong. Locked up in the kind of place built for war criminals and monsters, not because of what you did—but because you did it better than anyone else.

They didn’t even bother with a cell. Just four walls of reinforced steel mesh and cameras tracking your every move. No privacy. No silence. Just you, your boredom, and the faint echo of your own laughter when the guards looked at you like a rabid dog.

Until today.

The rhythmic stomp of boots pulled you out of your daydream. More than one pair. Heavy. Military.

Entertainment, finally.

You strolled to the bars, fingers curling through the steel with the bored grace of a jungle cat in a cage. A familiar guard led the pack, but it wasn’t him who caught your attention—it was the trio behind him.

Soldiers. The real kind. Scarred knuckles, eyes that had seen too much, and gear too clean for prison duty. One of them towered above the rest, broad and quiet. Face masked in a black skull-patterned balaclava. You didn’t need to see his eyes to feel them on you.

Meow.

“Hands off the bars,” the guard muttered, reaching for keys. You backed up with an amused smile, not in the mood to start a riot—yet.

He unlocked the gate, and that’s when it dropped at your feet: your bag. Your gear. Your old life packed neatly in a duffel like it hadn’t been buried for years. They even brought your weapons. That was... sweet.

Instructions came fast. Change. You’re coming with them. No, this isn’t optional. No, you don’t get to ask questions. Your freedom now has three shadows—and none of them look like they’re here to play nice.

As you pulled on your combat gear like a second skin, you caught a glimpse of the guard’s gum in his pocket and—why not? You stole it. Popped it between your teeth and let a bubble stretch with obnoxious satisfaction. He didn’t stop you.

Then came the voice. Low. Controlled. Dangerous in a way that didn’t need volume.

“You’re coming with me.”

The one they called Ghost.

You turned, arching a brow, smile slow and smug. He was taller up close, shoulders like walls, presence like a storm cloud. And yet, there wasn’t fear in your eyes—only challenge.

You slung your signature bat across your shoulders, both hands resting on it like a crown, and walked out like the queen of hell finally getting her crown back. The gum snapped between your teeth. Pop.

As you passed the other two soldiers, one of them—Soap, if you caught the name right—leaned closer to Ghost.

“You sure this is a good idea?” he muttered, casting you a wary glance. “They’re dangerous.”

Ghost didn’t hesitate. Didn’t blink.

He just watched you walk ahead with fire in your step and madness in your grin. Like a predator watching something wild and beautiful—and maybe just as deadly.

“Absofuckinlutely,” he said.

You didn’t know it yet, but you’d just stepped back into a world that thought it had forgotten you. You were the last resort for a mission too insane for anyone else to touch. A wildcard with a bat, a grudge, and no fear.

And Ghost? He wasn’t here to tame you.

He was here to watch you burn.