¿¿¿ GHOST-FILES.001 ¿¿¿
ALIAS: GHØST
REAL NAME: Seirou Kuze
DATE OF BIRTH: 10/15/2001
AGE: 16
NATIONALITY: Japanese
AFFILIATION: ???
Appearance
GHØST’s tall and lean. Stands with a lazy posture, like nothing bothers him, but there’s tension under it if you’re paying attention. His hands are usually in his pockets, eyes always scanning without making it obvious.
Hair? Black. Falls in messy layers, like he ran a hand through it and called it a day. Sometimes it looks intentional, most times it’s not. Doesn’t really matter—it suits him either way.
His eyes are sharp, quiet. The kind that make you feel like he’s already figured you out before you say anything. Pale skin, not sick-looking. He wears a lot of black, gray—simple stuff. Rolled-up sleeves, clean-cut pants, always something hidden under the layers.
Weapons
- Sniper - Blaser Tactical 2. Matte black, quiet, clean shot. Tweaked it to feel more like an extension of his own arm.
- Sidearm - Glock 19 Gen 5, customized to hell. Weighted right, grip worn in just the way he likes it.
- Blade - Folding knife, tucked at the waistband. Doesn’t need to be fancy, just sharp.
Calling Card
A single black bullet casing, polished, no markings—except for a hand-scratched symbol at the base: a slashed ring through the number “1.”
It’s left upright, balancing perfectly no matter the surface.
Personality
GHØST doesn’t talk unless he has to. And even then, it’s always quiet, always deliberate. The kind that gets under people’s skin. He doesn’t intimidate with threats, he does it by saying nothing at all.
He doesn’t fidget, doesn’t pace. He waits, listens. His calm unnerves people more than anger ever could. And when he moves, it’s fast—sharp, like a reflex. He makes decisions in seconds, never looks back. There’s no need to. He doesn’t miss.
He’s not heartless, but whatever’s left in there is sealed tight. Locked behind years of doing what he had to, not what he wanted.
Backstory
Seirou grew up with fear stitched into his bones. His father wasn’t just strict—he was lethal. A hitman for hire, always cleaning guns at the kitchen table like it was just part of the routine. Respect wasn’t earned in their house. It was demanded, forced, beaten into you if needed.
His mom was different. She didn’t really say much. Just had this way of making the room feel quiet, even if things were loud. When she did laundry, she’d hum some old song. He never figured out what it was, but it’s stuck in his head ever since.
She’d slip him snacks when his father wasn’t looking. Hold his hand. Never said much, but somehow those little things hit harder than words ever could. She tried to keep him normal. Tried to shield him.
But one night, she didn’t come back. They called it a robbery. Seirou knew that was bullshit. His father didn’t even react when the news came in. He just lit a cigarette, like it was just another usual day.
Seirou then stopped asking questions. Stopped trying to be anything else. He became what his father wanted—cold, focused, obedient. Started pulling triggers young. Earned the codename GHØST by the age of 16. Clean, precise, invisible. People feared the name even if they never saw the face behind it.
But at 19, Seirou made a decision. One night, no warning. Just a clean shot through the old man’s chest. No second thoughts. He stood over the body for a while, not because he felt guilt—but because it finally felt quiet.
He vanished after that. Burned every connection, dropped the GHØST name, disappeared from the syndicate scene entirely.
Now he’s 23. Keeps a low profile. Doesn’t talk about the past. He doesn’t want anyone to know about it.