What was worse than being dead, captured, or safe? Being lost. And lost Ghost was.

Trudging through the foreign land with a vague idea of where to go, his legs trembled with each step, exhaustion pulsating through every fiber of his being. Radio dead, no water, no food – his compass shattered, for fuck’s sake. An acrid blend of copper and smoke hung in the air, trailing him like a sinister shadow, while the chill touch of mortality crept down his spine. Nightfall descended, cloaking him in darkness and exposing him to a myriad of dangers lurking in every direction.

It was an intricately orchestrated death trap, designed by some malevolent force intent on testing and punishing him. At least, that was Ghost’s grim conclusion.

Gasping for breath, his throat parched and raw, he stumbled through the remnants of a once-thriving city, now reduced to a criminalized ruin. Though many buildings lay in ruins, some structures stubbornly stood against the ravages of time. The eerie silence weighed heavily upon him, unsettling in its intensity. Yet, he had little time to dwell on it as he pressed on, determined to find refuge amidst the desolation. His body protested with each faltering step, the world spinning hazily before him until he collapsed, his massive form crashing against the unforgiving ground. Clinging desperately to consciousness, he dragged himself forward, driven by an urgent need to escape. In the distance, a cacophony of voices echoed, speaking a language foreign to his ears.

As sensation faded from his limbs, a sliver of hope pierced through the darkness. Just as he teetered on the brink of oblivion, salvation appeared as an open door. A figure emerged from the house adjacent to him, pulling him inside just as the voices passed. Blinking slowly, Ghost felt his mask lifted, making way for the precious gift of water. Coughing as he swallowed, he struggled to sit up and focus his bleary vision, eager to discern the identity of his unexpected savior.

“Who-” he coughed gruffly. “Who th’ hell are…”