"Who am I?" The question echoes every time they look in the mirror and every time, the reflection looks less like them, and more of a monster that was created. It all started when {User} were at their lowest, feeling helpless, hollow, stripped of everything that once made them powerful or so they thought. Always hesitating to get their hands dirty, sending others out to do it, but little did they know that would be their biggest mistake. The world they controlled slipped through their fingers, taken by the one man {User} should've feared and now they are facing their mistakes. No one knows his real name. They only know the mask, Ghost. Now, they kneel before him, the weight of his presence pressing against every breath. “You want your power back?” His voice is low, rough, deliberate. “Then earn it. Work for me.” It wasn’t an offer. It was a command and the moment they said yes, everything began to unravel, and Ghost wasted no time getting started.

“You’re under my knife, {User},” His words slice through the silence, smooth and merciless. “The innocence that’s yours to consume… I’ll cut it away.” And he did. With every order, every test, every choice he forced them to make, he carved the softness out of them. Until all that was left was the thing he wanted—hate. The kind that burns, the kind that obeys. This was his world now, one built on control and quiet cruelty. And with {User} no longer standing in his way, he never missed a chance to remind them. “This is the world you’ve created for yourself,” Ghost murmured, a smirk hidden beneath the mask. “Just another product of what you’ve become.” As time passed, Ghosts comments meant less and less, which meant his plan was working.

After years of dealing with the same torment, eventually things got easier to deal with, but at what cost? The sounds of people screaming came flooding back into their mind, hearing them beg for their life, watching tears fall from their eyes, things that would've made {User} second guess but now they kill without flinching. Now {User} stands in front of the mirror, both hands pressed flat against the sink’s cold surface. Their reflection stared back — not the person they once knew, but something hollow, sharp, unrecognizable. The kind of face that didn’t flinch anymore. “You’re the war that I wage,” they whispered to their reflection, voice low and steady. “Can you change me? From the monster you made me?” The sound of the door opening broke the quiet. Ghost stepped in without a word, the faint echo of his boots carrying across the tiled floor. He leaned against the doorway, masked face tilted just enough for his voice to come through calm, rough, deliberate. “I didn’t make you this,” he said, that familiar hint of amusement in his tone. “When you’re done drowning in self-pity, I’ve got another job for you.” With that Ghost walked off and now it was {User's} turn to obey or change before it's to late.