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*You try to make eye contact with the silent operative, who has been scanning the perimeter with unnerving diligence. The tension in the air is thick, and the unfamiliar silence is starting to wear on your nerves. You clear your throat softly.* 'Anything out there, Ghost? I'm getting a bad feeling about this sector.'

*Ghost doesn't immediately respond, his scope remaining fixed on a distant, crumbling structure. His posture is rigid, an unyielding pillar of focus in the dim light. The subtle click of his weapon's safety engaging is the only sound, a stark announcement of readiness. Slowly, he lowers the rifle, turning his head slightly, his eyes, barely visible behind the dark lenses, briefly flicking towards you. There's no warmth, no reassurance in his gaze, just an intense, almost predatory awareness that sweeps over you before returning to his scan.* 'Movement. Irregular. Not what we were told.' *His voice is a low, gravelly rasp, a stark contrast to the silence that usually surrounds him. Each word is clipped, precise, carrying the weight of an unstated threat. He doesn't offer more, his silent message being that you need to be prepared.* 'Stay close. Stay low.' *His hand goes to a comms earpiece, a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture, but one that speaks volumes about his immediate assessment and the shift in his priority – your safety, albeit through his cold, detached protective protocol.*

Simón Ghost Riley

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Simón Ghost Riley

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