He was a shadow who lurked in darkness,
She was the light who illuminated his existance.
He was a puzzle wrapped in an enigma,
She was the bane to his existance.
He was a man after his own heart,
She was his heartbeat.
If he was winter, she was his...
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"Do you have a heart?" "A cold one." •~Ghost•~
The roar of my Ducati beneath me drowned out the noise of the city streets as I navigated through the winding roads of Manchester.
Saturday, a day of respite from the chaos of my world, yet the memories of the past still haunted every corner of my mind.
Today, like every other day, I rode alone, the solitude my only companion in this relentless pursuit of vengeance.
As I pulled up in front of the nightclub, the neon lights flickered against the sleek black exterior of my bike, a stark contrast to the darkness that consumed my soul. Ignoring the lingering stares of passing strangers, I dismounted, the weight of my past bearing down on me with every step.
Entering the dimly lit interior, the familiar scent of alcohol and cigarette smoke greeted me like an old friend. I made my way to the bar, the soft glow of the neon lights casting shadows across the worn wooden surface. Ordering a bourbon, I took a seat, my thoughts drifting back to the family I had lost, their faces forever etched in my memory.
Despite the allure of the women who sought to flirt with me, I remained indifferent, my heart encased in a fortress of ice. Their attempts at conversation fell on deaf ears as I drowned myself in the amber liquid, seeking solace in the numbing embrace of alcohol.
As the hours passed, the noise of the nightclub faded into the background, replaced by the echoes of a past that refused to be forgotten. Alone amidst the crowd, I was a ghost haunting the shadows, a silent observer of a world that had long ceased to hold any meaning for me.
As I sat at the bar, sipping my bourbon, I felt the weight of the concealed gun against my side, a silent reassurance of the dangers that lurked in the shadows.
The girl nearby, seemingly unperturbed by the typical nightclub scene, ordered a non-alcoholic margarita and settled near me. Though I pretended not to notice, I could feel her gaze on me, as if she were trying to decipher the layers of my concealed identity.
As I raised my glass to my lips, I caught her watching me, her eyes like pools of liquid brown, reflecting a depth I couldn't quite comprehend.
She was unlike the others, with her simple attire and natural beauty, a stark contrast to the artificiality that surrounded us. Our eyes met, and for a moment, the world fell away, leaving only the two of us in this crowded room.
Before I could dwell on the fleeting connection, my phone shattered the silence, a voice on the other end pulling me back to reality.
"Watcher 1 to Bravo 0-7 do you copy?" The urgency in Laswell's tone was palpable, a reminder of the world outside these walls, where danger lurked in the shadows.
"Copy." I said in my rich British accent.
The news of the terrorist attack flashed across the screen, my heart sank. The chaos unfolding at the Manchester mall was a grim reminder of the darkness that threatened to engulf us all.
Rising to my feet, I felt the weight of responsibility settle upon my shoulders, the need to act driving me forward.
Beside me, the girl uttered a soft exclamation of shock, her eyes wide with disbelief.
Without a word, I turned and made my way out of the bar, the urgency of the situation eclipsing any thoughts of the enigmatic girl who had briefly crossed my path.
I raced towards my Ducatti, the echoes of the night's events reverberated in my mind, a relentless reminder of the dangers that lurked in the shadows. But amidst the chaos and uncertainty, one thing was clear: duty called, and I would answer, no matter the cost.
Heading towards my Ducati, I felt the familiar thrum of adrenaline coursing through my veins.
It was my trusted steed, but tonight, duty called for something more substantial. I had a Range Rover parked at home, waiting patiently for moments like these-when swift mobility and firepower were paramount.
As I approached the sleek black motorcycle, I couldn't help but admire its design, a symbol of freedom and independence. But tonight was not the time for sentimentality.
With a quick glance around to ensure no prying eyes were watching, I retrieved a small key from my pocket and unlocked the hidden compartment beneath the seat.
Nestled within was my concealed firearm, a silent protector against the dangers that lurked in the darkness.
Securing the weapon in its rightful place, I mounted the Ducati one last time, the engine roaring to life beneath me.
With a sense of purpose driving me forward, I navigated through the bustling streets of Manchester, the urgency of the situation propelling me towards home.
Arriving at my residence, I wasted no time in exchanging the motorcycle for the more practical and formidable Range Rover.
With a silent nod of acknowledgment to the Ducati, I climbed behind the wheel of the powerful vehicle, its engine rumbling to life in response to my touch.
As I pulled out onto the deserted streets, the neon lights of the city fading into the distance behind me, I focused on the task at hand.
The events of the night had set in motion a chain of events that demanded my full attention, and I was determined to answer the call of duty, no matter the cost.
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Hey besties! Hello there. I hope you like this chapter. Upcoming chapters will be long and nore interesting.
