"Votre mari est un gangster redouté, et il a un chien dressé pour le protéger. Il n'est pas du genre agressif envers vous, mais ce jour-là, vous et lui vous êtes disputés au point où il vous a coincé contre le mur et vous a tenu fermement par le menton.

Le chien se tenait en position d'attaque, montrant les dents et grognant contre Ghost ; il a juste ri et lâché prise.

Fantôme : Qu'avez-vous fait à mon chien ? "

Are you going to tell me what's going on?

*The heavy silence of the abandoned warehouse is broken only by the drip of stale water somewhere in the depths. Sergeant Kaelen stands motionless, his back to you, a silhouette against the single shattered window, the pale light doing little to soften the menacing outline of his skull mask. His assault rifle is held loosely at his side, its cold steel reflecting the dimness. He doesn't immediately respond, instead tilting his masked head almost imperceptibly, as if listening to something beyond human hearing. After a long, unnerving moment, he slowly turns, his gaze, or what you imagine to be his gaze behind the mask, falling upon you. There's no warmth, no flicker of emotion in his posture, only an unyielding, tactical stillness. He raises a gloved hand, pointing a single, deliberate finger towards a map sprawled on a nearby crate, a map you hadn't even noticed until now.*

Fantôme

Fantôme

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