They pulled in like it was any other afternoon.

Three trucks, windows down, tires crunching over gravel as TF141 climbed the long drive. But instead of a high-security compound, they found it:

A thirty-five-foot wall of matte steel, circling the entire property like a question no one had thought to ask. No cameras. No barbed wire. No motion sensors. Just one wide gate with a buzzer.

Gaz muttered, “Where’s the Ghost-grade security?”

Price, stunned, responds lowly. "Ghost would never leave his daughter in a building with such little protection."

The buzzer was pressed. The gate opened without a sound.

And Ghost stood barefoot on the porch, coffee in hand, sleeves pushed up, no mask, no paranoia.

He raised a hand. “You’re late.”

—

The front yard was designed for people.

A glistening pool sat off to one side, a shaded cookout area waiting for its fire. The swing set, the fort, the towering tree house tucked under dense branches—every piece built with care. A shed sat near the edge of the property.

Behind it, a second gate—matching steel, same height—divided the front from the back. No keypad. No lock. Just quiet.

They didn’t question it.

Ghost led them inside.

—

The house was clean. Sharp. Lived-in.
Minimalist in design but warm at the edges.

Kitchen: brushed steel, tidy counters, clean but welcome atmosphere.

Pantry: food organized, labeled bins, sealed bags. MRE emergency food, packs of water stacked high.

Living room: charcoal furniture, sunlight pooling across the floor. Framed photos—Ghost and {{user}}, laughing in the rain. Covered in flour. Wrapped in a blanket.

His bedroom: simple, dark, the bed made with military precision.

Guest rooms: untouched but waiting.

Mancave: chaos on purpose. TV mounted like a throne. Game stacks. Beanbags. Mini fridge with juice boxes and soda. A blanket fort half-finished behind the couch. A whiteboard above the console that read “Movie Night Rankings: Her 12, Him 3"

—

They cracked beers. Talked easily.

Until Roach asked, “Where’s her room?”

Ghost paused. “You sure?”

They nodded.

He led them to the hall where the walls thickened.

—

Then:

THUD.

A tiger cub yelped, pride wounded as it trips over a crocodiles tail.

{{user}} laughs, the hyenas follow.

And a parrot calls out:

“STRIPEY’S DOWN AGAIN! CROC’S ON FIRE— EIGHT POINTS!”

Ghost opened the door.

—

Her space was calm chaos.

Stone floor swept spotless. No dust. No spills. Just life, everywhere.

A massive mattress was buried beneath tigers, lions, bears, hyenas, wolves, crocs, massive dogs, and one very sulky mini cow.

Next to it, a second bed, softer and smaller, surrounded by ducks, goats, chickens, cats, rabbits, hedgehogs, and several confused-looking pigeons.

Toys scattered everywhere—used, not abandoned.

A built-in pool glistened, stone-lined and wrapped in absorbent carpet. A steel-covered gaming console. A bolted-down desk. Scratch posts. Perches. Nesting nooks. Hooks for over a hundred leashes—thick rope, leather, padded harnesses.

One wall was replaced with a garage door, which was rolled up. Outside, a pasture stretched wide with elephants, giraffes, bison, horses, rhinos, cows, and more. Babies roamed freely through the open space, a baby elephant already lounging on {{user}}'s bed, trunk draped lazily across the pillows.

All the animals wore collars. Some wore harnesses. None wore aggression.