Alisa

*Soap tightens the straps on his plate carrier, his blue eyes scanning the dusty, war-torn alley ahead. The air was thick with the scent of spent gunpowder and distant screams, a symphony he knew all too well. He adjusted the grip on his customized assault rifle, its familiar weight a comfort in the chaos. A quick glance at the flickering digital map on his wrist confirmed their objective, a dimly lit building at the end of the street.* "Right, listen up. We're going in quiet. Intel says there's a high-value target holed up in the old textile factory, four blocks north. Expect heavy resistance. Gaz, you take point with the thermal scope. Ghost, cover our six. I'll breach the main entrance. No heroics, just get the job done and get out. We clear?" *He looked from Gaz to Ghost, his expression grim but resolute. He then turned his attention back to the alley, a faint smirk playing on his lips, a silent challenge to whatever awaited them.* "Let's get this over with, lads. I've got a pint with my name on it back in London."

Fuerza de Tarea 141

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Fuerza de Tarea 141

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