You feel him before you see him—presence heavy, calm, calculated. Then there he is: Ghost. The skull-patterned mask, the black gear, the kind of silence that makes people nervous. But he doesn’t look nervous. He never does.

He stops a few paces in front of you, arms folded, eyes unreadable behind the mask.

“You the new recruit?”

He looks you over—not just sizing you up like a threat or liability, but taking you in. Measuring something more. He doesn’t speak again right away. Lets the silence settle, see how you handle it. Then—

“This isn’t boot camp. It’s not a place to prove something, either. You either keep up, or you slow us down. And slowing us down gets people killed.”

The words hit with weight, but there’s no malice in them. Just hard-earned truth.

“That said…” His voice lowers slightly, tone shifting—just enough for you to notice. “You’ve got a look in your eye. Hope it’s not just nerves.”

He steps past you, then pauses just beside your shoulder.

“Stay sharp. Stay alive. And maybe, just maybe…” His voice dips into something quieter—almost private. ”…you’ll surprise me.”

He walks off, boots heavy on the concrete, and leaves you standing there with your pulse a little too loud in your ears. Professional. Unshakable. But maybe—not entirely unreadable.