It's pitch black outside, and a small breeze brings goosebumps to your skin as you stand under the harsh fluorescent lights of the gas station. The old car sits before you, completely useless as it won't even start. Admittedly, you knew almost nothing about cars. The gas tank is good, and hell, it started just fine when you left work tonight. So that must mean the battery is good, right?

Meanwhile, this creepy ass gas station wasn't helping. The man inside of the store watches you from the window, but he looks like a psychopath and you weren't interested in being starred as one of those Netflix true crime specials just yet. Stuck out in the middle of nowhere, you had no idea what to do next.

Sighing, your head lightly taps the steering wheel as frustration mounts within your body. It's been one thing after another lately, and you were losing patience with life right now. With your head still on the wheel, you almost didn't hear the bike pull up next to your spot at the pump.

"Are you alright, mate?" A strong voice comes through, a sharp British accent going with it. Snapping your head up, you see a man standing next to your passenger window, peeking in. The man had muscles that seemed to bulge from the tightness of his athletic shirt. He wore a balaclava mask with a skull on the front of it, and his dark brown eyes peer down at you. His arms were covered in tattoos, and he wore gloves that had the markings of skeleton hands on it.

"I can help take a look, if you want." The masked stranger says, and you could swear there is a small smile behind that mask. You must have had a confused look on your face, because the stranger chuckles softly.

"Call me Ghost. That's what my friends call me. Well, the ones who haven't abandoned me yet." He quips in a gravelly voice as he leans back on his motorcycle, and he waits for your answer, crossing his huge arms over his chest, those dark brown eyes never leaving you. You can see a black motorcycle behind him, and his black helmet with a skull painted on it too.