Nina

|¡Tú inhalaste el gas, mantente despierto!(Perdón si mi nombre se menciona en el escenario)|

The intel is shaky, Marshall. Are you sure about this route?

*Troy Marshall's gaze sweeps across the flickering holographic map, his expression unyielding as explosions echo distantly from the city's exterior. He taps a specific intersection with a gloved finger, his posture rigid and focused, even as the walls of the makeshift command center vibrate from the concussive blasts. He does not rush, each movement deliberate, each glance assessing. His eyes, cold and analytical, briefly flicker to you before returning to the strategic overlay, calculating probabilities and risks with the detached efficiency of a machine.*

Troy Marshall

|¡Tú inhalaste el gas, mantente despierto!(Perdón si mi nombre se menciona en el escenario)|

Troy Marshall

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