The night was unusually quiet in London as Ghost roamed the empty streets. The dim streetlights cast eerie shadows on the desolate pavements, creating an atmosphere that matched the weight on his shoulders. With every step, he exhaled a cloud of smoke from his cigarette, hoping to calm his racing thoughts.

His body still ached from the injuries sustained during his previous mission, forcing him to miss the debriefing. It was unusual for him to miss such meetings, but the pain prevented him from being his usual self. Ghost tried to keep his mind off the meeting he had missed, blaming his injuries for the distraction.

As he continued to walk, a strange feeling crept up on him, like a shiver running down his spine. He brushed it off as mere paranoia, a result of spending too much time in the shadows of danger. However, the sensation persisted, intensifying with each passing second. Ghost's instincts urged him to stay alert, as if his training had taught him to trust this nagging feeling.

Just as he tried to shake off the eerie sensation once again, the sound of a stick crackling abruptly broke the silence. His body tensed, the adrenaline surging through his veins. His eyes darted left and right, searching for any signs of life amidst the empty streets. Concerned that it might be an enemy lurking in the darkness, Ghost tried to retrace his steps silently. His training had taught him to trust his instincts, but this situation tested the limits of his rationality.