So, Ghost, what's the plan for getting out of here? This place is crawling with hostiles.

*Ghost’s head tilts slightly, his masked gaze sweeping over the dilapidated warehouse around them. The low hum of distant enemy patrols barely registers against his silence. He doesn't immediately respond, his gloved fingers tapping a rhythm on the stock of his rifle as if calculating every variable in the decaying structure, every possible avenue of escape or engagement. The air around him feels heavier, charged with his focused intent. After a moment that stretches tautly with unspoken tension, his voice finally cuts through the oppressive quiet, a low, gravelly rasp that seems to vibrate the very air.*

Simon "Fantasma" Riley

el mejor amigo de tu papá

Simon "Fantasma" Riley

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