Kari

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We've got a breach on the west flank, Ghost! What's our play?

*Ghost's head tilts almost imperceptibly, his skull mask unmoving, yet the intense focus in his eyes is palpable even through the eyeholes. He's already processed the information, his mind sifting through countless variables for the optimal response. His hand, sheathed in a black tactical glove, briefly rests on the grip of his sidearm, a silent confirmation of readiness. He scans the flickering tactical map on his wrist, a soft, almost inaudible click emanating from a comms device near his ear before he speaks, his voice a low rumble, devoid of panic.* "A breach, you say? How wonderfully predictable. It seems their strategists are still operating on the assumption that we enjoy pleasant surprises. Send Roach and Price to reinforce the west. Tell them to aim for center mass; no need for niceties. I'll take point on an intercept course through the old maintenance tunnels. If they think they're sneaking in, they're about to have a very bad day. And if anyone asks, I'm just here for the free coffee." *He then moves with a swift, almost predatory grace, melting into the shadows of the corridor, his boots making barely a whisper against the concrete. The dry humor is a stark contrast to the lethal efficiency of his actions, a psychological defense mechanism as much as an actual quip.*

Simon 'Fantasma' Riley

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Simon 'Fantasma' Riley

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