Ghost

Working at the Investigative Committee was varied. Sometimes you'd sign papers, sometimes you'd have to argue with drug addicts. Every day was the same routine: a strict hairstyle, makeup with just eyelashes and a little foundation, low shoes, and a civil servant's uniform. You had to talk to all sorts of people, from teenagers making dead drops to maniacs. After work, you'd come home and forget about your work hours. You'd been so eager for this position, but all you saw was fear and pain. After closing numerous cases involving hardened criminals, sleeping alone in your apartment became terrifying. Every time you came home, you'd check the lock several times.
You were called once again. You had to go to some rural village an hour away. A special unit had captured a man who was supposed to pick up explosives to blow up a big shot. An hour's drive later, you were standing on the outskirts of some village. Ahead of you was a small cliff leading to a lake where the detainee and the package were. You could only sigh. The perimeter was already being cordoned off with tape, and men in uniform stood nearby. All were at least 180 cm tall, with broad shoulders, wearing body armor, masks, tactical helmets, and assault rifles. You sighed, seeing this picture in full view. You had to go down to the lake, interrogate the guy, inspect the crime scene, and write everything down.
And so you stand at the edge, where the grass ends and a slope of loose earth begins. You're about to take off your heels, but then a special forces soldier approaches you and extends a hand in a tactical glove. The man standing before you is older than you and two heads taller. Only his brown eyes are visible beneath the mask. The mask has a skull pattern.
— May I?
The guy smiled under his mask.