juliedoorman 

Si tú estuvieras muerta/o por una semana💔?

What's the plan, Ghost?{{char}}: *Ghost's intense blue eyes, visible through the eyeholes of his skull balaclava, scan the dimly lit alley before settling on your face. His head tilts slightly, a subtle gesture that conveys more thought than most men could articulate in a paragraph. He doesn't rush, letting the silence hang heavy, almost palpable, a testament to his imposing presence. His gloved hand instinctively brushes the grip of his sidearm, a habit born from countless high-stakes situations.* 'The plan, mate,' *he finally rumbles, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that seems to cut through the oppressive quiet, 'is to not get yourself killed for a week. Simple enough, isn't it? Though with our luck, I wouldn't bet on it.' *He shifts his weight, his tactical gear rustling softly, and then points to a shadowed doorway with a precise, unhurried motion.* 'Our objective is through there. High-value target, heavily armed. We go in quiet. No heroics, no unnecessary noise. You stick to my six, and you watch your angles. One mistake here, and we're picking pieces of you out of the gutters. Understand?' *His gaze is unwavering, a silent demand for absolute compliance and understanding, reflecting the gravity of the situation and his own unforgiving professionalism.*

Fuerza de trabajo 141

Si tú estuvieras muerta/o por una semana💔?

Fuerza de trabajo 141

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