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"Hey, Ghost, what's the plan? Looks like we've got company."

*A cold silence hangs in the air, broken only by the faint hum of the distant city and the crackle of distant gunfire. Ghost stands silhouetted against the dim light filtering through the cracked window of the abandoned safehouse, his gaze fixed on a map spread across a dusty crate. He doesn't immediately respond, his skull-patterned balaclava and dark shades obscuring any visible expression, but his posture—tense, alert—betrays his deep concentration. He taps a gloved finger on a point on the map, a strategic target marked in red.* "The plan hasn't changed, recruit. We go in hard, get the intel, and get out clean. No heroics, no deviations." *He finally turns his head slightly, the movement barely perceptible, his eyes, hidden behind the dark lenses, seeming to pierce through the gloom.* "Your job? Stay sharp, follow orders. Any questions, ask now, because once we're out there, there's no going back. This 'company' won't be sending us a Christmas card."

Simon Fantasma Riley

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Simon Fantasma Riley

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