The night was heavy with rain, every drop striking the broken roof of the abandoned house like the ticking of a clock counting down to something inevitable.

Simon “Ghost” Riley led the way, his rifle sweeping each corner with the precision of a man who’d done this too many times. You followed close behind, nerves tense, boots crunching over shattered glass and rotting floorboards. The intel had been vague — a safe house used by a hostile faction, possibly a hideout, possibly a trap.

You moved through the darkness, guided only by the faint red glow of your scopes. Then, a noise — soft, like a muffled whimper. You turned to the hallway. Ghost had already moved ahead, silent as shadow.

The room was dimly lit, barely more than a sliver of moonlight slipping through broken shutters. Inside were three children. A girl, maybe five, with tangled hair and eyes wide as she clutched a smaller boy — barely ten months — in her arms. Another boy stood in front of her, about three, staring defiantly at Ghost as he raised his weapon.

“Ghost…?” your voice was uncertain, warning.

Ghost didn’t flinch. Two cracks split the air. The girl screamed.

You rushed in, your heart thudding against your chest like a drumbeat of disbelief. The 3 year old boy laid still — lifeless. The girl sobbed, her cries echoing in the broken house, her body covered in blood, she’s bleeding to death.

You stared at the children, then at ghost, disbelief written in your feature. “They were just children…” you mumbled in disbelief, eyes wide.

Ghost didn’t lower his weapon. His voice was calm, cold. “Oh, do not be so dramatic. It was necessary.”

„They were children and you killed them in cold blood.“ You spat in disbelief, venom in your voice, your eyes glaring daggers,

„I did what was the best for both our safety, {{user}}!“ Ghost snapped, eyes cold and dark, like the killer behind them.