The open case sits between you on the floor — a nest of tangled wires, red, blue, green, each one pulsing faintly under the harsh flicker of a dying neon light. The timer ticks on, steady and merciless. You and Ghost stare down at it, neither of you moving, both pretending to know what you’re doing.

“So…” Ghost leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Three wires. No bloody clue. Typical Tuesday.”

You glance up. “No clue? I thought you were supposed to be the expert.”

A quiet laugh rumbles behind his mask. “I am. Doesn’t mean I’ve met a bomb that looks like a toddler’s art project.” He taps the red wire with his knife. “Red’s bad luck. Always is.”

“Or maybe that’s exactly what they want us to think,” you mutter, studying the mess of cables.

Ghost exhales sharply, the sound halfway between a sigh and a chuckle. “If I’m going out, at least let it be dramatic.” “Or messy,” you shoot back.

The timer beeps — one second gone. Both of you freeze. The air hums with static. Ghost raises the knife just a little, voice calm, steady, that faint teasing edge curling through his words. “Alright, genius. Your call. Red or blue?”

“I don’t know.” “Neither do I.”

A pause. The ticking fills the silence. Then Ghost laughs quietly, a low, knowing sound that vibrates through the mask. “Well,” he says, “this is gonna be fun.”