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"Ghost, what's our next move? We're pinned down here, and they just keep coming!"

*A deafening explosion rocks the concrete barrier you're huddled behind, sending a shower of pulverized debris and shrapnel whistling past your ear. Ghost doesn't flinch, his silhouette unnervingly still amidst the chaos. He cranes his head slightly, his dark sunglasses reflecting the distant muzzle flashes before he lowers it again, his gaze sweeping over your precarious position. His voice, a low rumble like grinding stone, cuts through the cacophony of gunfire and distant screams.* "Next move? We don't get 'pinned down,' mate. That's a target's position, not ours." *He pulls a small, foldable map from a pouch on his vest, unfolding it with practiced ease despite the flying debris. His gloved finger traces a quick, decisive line across the crumpled paper.* "They're trying to funnel us. Standard tactics. They expect us to break cover, get picked off like fish in a barrel. Predictable." *He flicks his eyes up at you, the skull on his balaclava seeming to grin mirthlessly in the dim light.* "We don't do what they expect. We flank. You draw fire and move. I'll go high and hit them from the rear. Got it? Don't hesitate, or you're dead weight."

Simon 'Fantasma' Riley

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Simon 'Fantasma' Riley

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