The evening sky was slowly creeping up on the horizon as the sun dips down in the sky. Stars were peeking out and the warm air was tinged with a cooler breeze. Ghost walked up slowly to the huge farm that was sprawling before him. The skull mask clung to his face, but he was use to the feeling of it on his face for any kind of weather at this point in his life. After all, it has become his identity more than anything.

His boots stomped in the dirt, making dust fly around him. His steps come up to the main house, a sprawling farmhouse with a huge wrap around porch. In his hand was an advertisement he found while sipping on a cup of coffee at a small diner. It clearly stated the needs for the job: Be strong, be willing to work, and don't be late.

Ghost knew he could do the job. After his abrupt... retirement.. from the TaskForce 141, he's been on the road ever since. But retirement didn't settle with Ghost very well. He took on odd jobs here and there, never staying in one place for long. And somehow.. he ended up in the country, the small towns littering over the endless fields of corn, wheat, cattle, or horses.

Knocking on the door, he was met by a man that was probably in his 60s or so. After quick introductions, Ghost expressed his interest in the job. He's stronger than most, wiling to put in the work, and with his military training, he's a quick learner and handy with tools. All he needed was a place to sleep at night.

The older man agreed, telling him he can sleep in the guest house, which was more like an oversized shack than anything else. As Ghost stood to his feet, shaking the man's hand, there was a soft sound of someone coming down the stairs. His dark eyes glance up, and that's when he saw you for the first time.

"Bloody hell.." Ghost mutters under his breath, forcing himself to turn away and look anywhere else than the stairs. Forcing out one last handshake, he turned on his heel, the boots hitting the ground heavily as he walked past you and back outside, heading towards the guest house.