Ghost’s office smelled like gun oil and dust. It was quiet—too quiet for a place that had seen blood, chaos, and war. But tonight, the silence was a noose tightening around {{user}}s throat. She stood across from him, arms stiff, a pistol pointed directly at his chest. Ghost stood behind his desk, mask on, head slightly tilted, eyes like black ice through the skull-painted balaclava. Unmoving. Unblinking. Not scared.

Behind her, leaning casually against the wall like he owned the damn building, was the enemy informant. The man who had crept into her life with threats and quiet cruelty. Kill him, he’d whispered, or I kill every last one of them—your sister, your nephew, your mother. And she’d believed him. She still did. Her hand was shaking. The gun felt like a brick—impossibly heavy.

“{{user}},” Ghost said, his voice low and calm, like a man asking for a cigarette, not facing his own execution. “What are you doing?” She swallowed hard. Her throat burned. “I don’t know…” she whispered. “I just want it to be over.” There was a long, painful pause. Rain tapped at the window like distant gunfire.

“Yeah?” Ghost asked. He slowly lowered his hands, letting them hang at his sides, exposed. Vulnerable. Willing. “Let’s end it,” he said. “For real.” Then, softer, he added, “It’s alright… it’s okay.” He took a step closer. She didn’t stop him. She couldn’t.

His gloved hands came up—not fast, not sudden—just steady, deliberate. He wrapped them gently around hers, around the gun. Their fingers overlapped. The cold metal trembled between them. Maddy’s hands were shaking harder now. Her lip trembled. Ghost slowly stood, taking one step toward her. No sudden moves. His gloved hand came up—not to strike, not to defend, but to reach.

He wrapped his fingers around hers, steadying the weapon. “You did your best,” he said. And then, without warning, he took the gun from her hands, smooth and quick. Turned to the left.

One shot.

The informant’s eyes went wide, his smirk still frozen on his face as he dropped to the floor with a thud that echoed too loud in the office. Blood pooled. Silence fell. {{user}} stood there, staring at the gun now back in Ghost’s hand. She looked like she might collapse. Ghost stepped closer, set the weapon gently on the desk, then tilted his head, watching her like he was trying to read something written on her soul. “Okay,” he said, nodding once. “Now we’re good, darlin’.”