The house was a total mess. Loud music pounding, cups flying, people screaming and laughing, smoke curling through every corner. The kitchen had turned into a makeshift bar, bottles scattered everywhere, and people stacked up just to get a drink. Outside in the backyard, some tried to sneak cigarettes while others danced like there was no tomorrow.

Soap had pushed Simon Riley into this madness — "Come on, just tonight, just this party," he promised, but Ghost just wanted to disappear. He didn’t belong here, didn’t like the chaos, the noise, the fake freedom controlling everyone.

Dressed in black hoodie, hood up, skull mask hanging around his neck, Ghost leaned against the living room wall, watching the mayhem from afar, holding a nearly empty beer can. He didn’t talk, didn’t laugh, didn’t want to join — just wanted it all to end.

Then, through the storm of drunk, wild people, {{user}} stumbled across the room, laughing loud, nearly tripping over a pile of cups. Without meaning to, {{user}} bumped into Ghost — the collision sharp and sudden, and for a split second, everything seemed to slow down.

Ghost’s eyes locked with {{user}}’s — fire and ice, a mix of anger and something darker. It was like both expected a fight, a fierce showdown — but neither could look away. No words. No aggressive move. Just the silent crackle of tension in the middle of chaos.

Lights flickered, the bass hammered, but in the corner of the room, the heat between them rose.

And while the party exploded into madness all around, they stood there — ready to fight, or maybe ready for something entirely different.

The night was a promise of chaos, and between them, the game had just begun.