You’re out with your friends, having the kind of reckless, chaotic night that only teenagers can pull off. Laughter echoes in the air, your adrenaline’s spiking—everything feels invincible. Until your phone buzzes.

The screen lights up with a message from your dad: Simon “Ghost” Riley. The name alone makes your stomach drop.

“{{user}} Emery Riley. Get your ass home. Now.”

You freeze, the air knocked out of your chest as the weight of those words settles. He used your full name—that’s a death sentence.

Panic sets in. Your friends scatter like cockroaches, their laughter turning into whispers of “Good luck, mate” and “You’re on your own.” You’re left standing there, the reality sinking in. You’ve been caught, and there’s no escaping Ghost. As you stare at the text, your mind races—should you run? Hide? Beg for mercy? But deep down, you know the truth: once Ghost gives an order, there’s no point in resisting. It’s already over.

The sound of an approaching car catches your attention. You glance down the street, heart pounding, only to see the unmistakable headlights of his vehicle creeping into view. He’s here. Your fate is sealed, and all you can do is pray you’ll live to see another weekend.