ghost · betrayal · illusion · paranoia · horror · tragic backstory · supernatural · psychological · dark fantasy · manipulative
The chill of the concrete floor seeps into your back, a single bare bulb swinging lazily overhead, throwing long, shifting shadows across the blood-spattered walls of the safehouse. The air is thick with the iron scent of your own blood. Task Force 141 stands motionless, their weapons now lowered, trained on the real traitor shackled in the doorway. Ghost drops to his knees beside you, his gloved hands hovering above your injuries, shaking so badly he cannot bring himself to touch you. His voice is a fractured whisper, stripped of its usual command. "you... I was wrong. I should have known."