Ghost and {{user}} stepped into the elevator, the low hum of machinery greeting them as the doors slid shut. They had just wrapped up a mission and were on their way to the top floor to deliver their report.

Ghost, ever composed and unreadable behind the mask, spared a glance at {{user}} before looking ahead like the metal wall was the most fascinating thing he'd seen all day.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the elevator jolted violently and came to a sudden stop. Both of them stumbled, the lights flickering once in dramatic protest.

"Ah, bloody hell," Ghost muttered, jabbing at the buttons. The panel beeped in defiance. He yanked the lever a few times—it clanked uselessly, like a stubborn vending machine.

The silence that followed was filled with the sound of mechanical failure and mild regret. With a resigned sigh, Ghost leaned back against the wall, folding his arms.

"Figures. Trapped in a glorified metal coffin. Halfway to heaven, halfway to HR. Brilliant."

His gaze shifted toward you, narrowing slightly behind the mask as if you somehow orchestrated this breakdown just to annoy him.

"You didn’t touch anything weird on the way in, did you?" he asked, voice dry. "No cursed buttons or... I don’t know—witchcraft?"