As the first transport trucks returned with former enslaved people from the Slaveocracy's former territory, the Ghost looked into the palms of his hands. Despite the overwhelming amount of grief he'd been shouldering after Archie's death, he'd immediately stepped up into the role as the Greater Ottawan Union's leader. However, the suppression of his grief did have a price.
Upon his triumphant return home, the Ghost found several foreign merchants trying to practice their so-called "culture" by making it illegal for demi-humans even to enter their establishments. Needless to say, this broke the Union's laws. As a response, instead of having the Union's police handle the matter, the Ghost decided to handle this situation himself. Armed with his axe and sledgehammer, the Ghost kicked in each of their doors, tossed them into the streets, then had the police seize the merchandise of their entire store.
"You can't do this! The Merchant's Guild allows us to run our stores as we see fit, you TYRANT!" Spat one of the merchants. The Ghost whipped around, seized the merchant by his scrawny neck with a grip that could rival that of this world's grasp of insistence upon slavery. The Ghost's emotional mask was on the verge of breaking, but this... shattered it entirely. However, the Ghost didn't speak. His breath growled as he inhaled, tightening his grip on the merchant's neck. The merchant tried to break free, but found himself quickly thrown onto the paved road. The Ghost adjusted his gloves, then marched toward the merchant.
However, as he scrambled to his feet, the Ghost punched him square in the jaw, repeatedly, only pausing his blows to speak. "You pathetic fool..." another punch slams the merchant in the jaw again, "...there is no Merchant's Guild within Union territory..." the sound of another punch to the merchant's jaw fills the silent street, "...that means the Council's word, my word, is fucking law." The Ghost knocked the merchant down, then used his boot to keep the merchant down. "I am no tyrant, I am no king, I am, however, the broken soul who made your gods and demons shake without ever having met me... and I will happily devote every... single... ounce of my strength to erasing you, slavery, and those Holy pretenders from this world's memory. AM... I... CLEAR?!" The Ghost's glare ripped through any ounce of courage any of the merchants had. "W-we understand." They managed to spill for their quivering lips, tears welling up in their eyes.
"Good. Chief Roalson, seize the assets, be they merchandise and/or money, then toss them out of my Union, permanently." Ordered the Ghost. With a nod from Union Police Chief Roalson, the Ghost marched away, an anger burning in his veins as he made his way to the Greater Ottawan Union Council Building. Once there, his footfall sounded through the halls as if his feet were made of lead or tungsten. With a loud bang, the Council Chamber doors were thrust open, and it was clear the Ghost of Ottawa meant business.
"I expect each of you, council members, to uphold the laws we put forth. Failure to do so will result in the immediate removal of you from this council, am I clear?" With all members nodding yes in a gesture of compliance, the Ghost set forth on his following business matter. "Furthermore, I want a drafted proposal for annexing all of the Slaveocracy on my desk, at the Reddick Mansion by day's end. I want you to know that failure to do so will disappoint me deeply and call forth your abilities to act as leaders." Before anyone could say a word, he turned and left the building, making his way to Reddick Mansion. His mind wouldn't calm down, and he couldn't get the rage to turn off in any of his usual ways. He stumbled to the backyard before slamming his fist through an old aluminum water heater he'd converted into a sparring tool. The sensation of physical pain brought his rage down, all the while blood dripped down his right hand, which was now more scarred than it had been at any other time in his life.
With a cacophony of sudden loud, metallic blows, his personal guards and mansion maid rushed over to see the Ghost's fists, left and right, dripping blood as he'd put several dozen holes into that old water heater, finally able to calm down. "My god! Sir! Are you alright?!" Frantically, the maid expressed. "Yes, I just..." The Ghost's eyes were locked onto the open wounds on both of his hands, "I just need to clear my head... the noise was just... overwhelming." The maid led him inside, then cleaned and dressed his wounds. "Elisa, this is overkill. I agreed to allow a maid here, but this is too much!" Elisa shook her head, causing her elven ears to show past her hair. "Not at all, sir. I must repay you for avenging my daughter. This was the only way I could think of." The Ghost's hands stung as Elisa poured Dettol antiseptic over them, but his mind was elsewhere. He'd tried to refuse having a maid, but Elisa insisted upon it, so he ultimately gave in.
Once his hands were wrapped in gauze, he thanked her, then made his way to the mansion's study. There, he looked over documents that had piled up while he was out conquering the Slaveocracy. He had his bodyguard assist him in stamping the documents with his seal, as his hands, for the first time since his days in the U.S. Army, had gone numb. The Ghost worked all night, and around eleven in the evening, he was given the drafted proposal for the annexation of all the formerly held Slaveocracy lands. Before looking over them, he took a short break on the second-floor balcony, staring up at the full moon. The noise of grief hadn't gone quiet; only his rage had. He quickly went inside, told the guards he was going out for a bit, and declined his escort.
He took the Autowa to the US Silica sand pit, parked the truck, and got out. He stood at the edge of the pit, looking up at the moon for a few minutes, then down at his hands. As he looked at them, his hands trembled with pent-up frustration, grief, and an overwhelming flood of emotions. Finally reaching his mental limits, the Ghost clenched his bandaged fists tightly, then yelled at the top of his lungs into the pit's bottomless darkness. This yell was not out of anger, but out of stress, pain that ate away his very soul, and the overwhelming sense of grief caused by the death of his grandpa. His mind played back moments he'd failed, friends lost to the Order in their old world, the elven child he was too late to save, Archie's lifeless face as his grandpa's life slipped through his fingertips, the many demi-humans' expressions of fear as he bludgeoned the Slaveocracy's King to death, and the downcast faces of the demi-humans who were denied service within Union territory. He yelled with all his might and breath, with only the moon bearing witness to such pain.