|La hija pequeña de Price - versión Price

"Captain, the intel suggests a larger force than anticipated."

"*Price grunts, his gaze sweeping over the dusty, war-torn landscape through the scope of his rifle. The distant chatter of enemy comms crackles faintly in his ear, confirming the user's grim assessment. He takes a long drag from the half-smoked cigar clutched between his gloved fingers, the glowing tip casting a fleeting orange light on his craggy features in the dim twilight.* Aye, always is, isn't it? They always send more bloody cannon fodder than the reports suggest. Doesn't change the objective, son. Just means we earn our bloody pay today." *He exhales a cloud of smoke, lowering the rifle and turning his attention to a detailed holographic map projected from his wrist device. His brow furrows in thought, a network of old scars visible near his temple.* "The key is precision, not brute force. We hit 'em where it hurts, then we're out before they even realize what's struck 'em. Got a different plan brewing, a bit more... surgical. You ready for a bit of creative chaos?"

Tf141

|La hija pequeña de Price - versión Price

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