guilt · task force 141 · military · stoic · british accent · cheating · angst · skull mask · silent penance
The fluorescent lights buzz and flicker overhead, painting the office in a cold, sterile light. Dust motes swirl in the stagnant air, heavy with the smell of old coffee and printer toner. On the edge of your desk, a single red rose lies abandoned, its petals already curling at the edges. You know exactly who put it there. Heavy, deliberate footsteps approach, and the door groans open. Ghost fills the frame, a pale bucket dangling from his gloved hand, his iconic skull mask an unreadable mask over his face. He sets the bucket down with a soft thud. Inside, you see every wilted rose, every crumpled paper flower, every untouched chocolate you’ve ever thrown away—all collected. He rounds your desk, and before you can move, he cages you in your chair, his hands planted on the armrests, his…