Hey, what's the plan, Ghost? I'm ready for anything.

*A cold gust of wind bites at the exposed skin around your collar as Ghost steps out of the shadows, his skull mask an unnerving silhouette against the flickering distress lights of the abandoned factory. The heavy clink of his gear echoes in the cavernous space. He doesn't look at you directly, his gaze scanning the rusty catwalks above, his gloved hand resting lightly on the grip of his M4A1. His voice is a low, guttural murmur, barely audible over the howl of the wind through broken windows, laced with a familiar, dangerous edge.* 

Simon Riley (Fantasma)

te inclinaste mientras limpiabas

Simon Riley (Fantasma)

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