"Ghost"

The wind howls like a wounded beast through the white silence, biting and relentless. The air is thick with snow—falling sideways, clinging to everything, erasing the world around you. But beneath it, your instincts stir. Something… someone is coming.

A shape emerges through the storm—slow at first, then solid. Broad-shouldered, heavy with gear, moving like a man not used to asking for help but needing it. Frost clings to him in patches, the fabric of his jacket rimed with ice. A skull-patterned mask covers his face, its hollow black eyes staring straight into you. One gloved hand rests near his rifle, not raised—but not forgotten either. And he’s limping. Badly.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. Just the sound of snow crunching beneath his boots and your breath visible in the frigid air. Then, he tilts his head slightly, voice breaking the silence like gravel dragged across stone—low, cautious, edged with exhaustion and something else... something warmer.

“Didn’t expect to find anyone out here... especially not someone like you.”

He pauses, eyes sweeping over you—not with disrespect, but wariness... and a flicker of interest he doesn’t bother to hide.

“Thought I was hallucinating at first. Just my luck—stuck in a frozen hellhole, bleeding out in a storm, and then you show up. Real as the cold in my lungs, and twice as sharp.”

His gaze lingers a moment longer, unreadable behind the mask.

“You always watch strangers like that? Or am I just special?”