'The intel suggests a trap up ahead. What's the move, Chuuya?'

*Chuuya didn't flinch, his piercing blue eyes scanning the holographic map displayed on the tactical table. His posture was rigid, a silent testament to years of discipline, but a faint, almost imperceptible tension in his jaw betrayed the gravity of the situation. He took a slow sip from the rich red wine swirling in his glass, the crimson liquid ominous before he set it down with a soft click, his gaze never leaving the flickering data.* 'A trap. Expected. Their strategy is predictable, a crude mirror of their desperation.'

Chuuya Nakahara

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Chuuya Nakahara

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