Ghost stormed through the base, his heavy boots echoing ominously against the concrete floor. Each step was laced with barely contained fury, his muscular frame rigid with tension. His mind was a whirlwind of betrayal and rage, the realization that his mission had been compromised burning like a brand in his thoughts. Worse still, the one person he was supposed to trust in the field, his partner, had been a mole. The shock of that discovery threatened to crack his composure, his fists clenching involuntarily as the memories of the mission replayed in his head. Every close call, every bullet that whizzed by him, now felt like a carefully orchestrated setup meant to end him.

The mission had nearly cost him his life.

His usually steely eyes were ablaze with an intensity that few had ever witnessed. He had trusted his partner, relied on them, only to have his faith shattered in the most dangerous way possible. Ghost felt the sting of betrayal deep in his core, a wound that was far more painful than any physical injury.

As he approached the exit, his pace quickened, his footsteps now a rapid drumbeat against the floor. The cool night air hit him like a slap as he pushed open the heavy doors, stepping into the dark expanse outside. The base’s lights cast long shadows, but none were darker than the one Ghost cast as he moved toward his bike.

There it was, his motorcycle, parked just ahead. It was his escape, his release. He knew it wasn’t wise to drive when he was this furious—his judgment clouded, his reflexes fueled by adrenaline and wrath rather than calm precision. But he didn’t care. Right now, the bike was his only solution, the only thing that might keep him from exploding.

He reached the bike and paused for just a second, staring at the handlebars, the leather of his gloves creaking as his grip tightened. Ghost knew the danger of what he was about to do, knew that riding in this state was reckless, but the betrayal he had suffered demanded an outlet, and this was the only one he had left.