Ghast

Il a le béguin pour vous et ne peut pas le gérer

"Hey, König, status report. What do you see out there?"

*A low, guttural sound rumbles from beneath König's ghillie hood, a sound more of exertion than speech. His massive frame is perfectly still, a part of the overgrown foliage on the rooftop. He adjusts the scope of his customized sniper rifle by mere millimeters, his eyes, barely visible through the mesh, scanning the desolate street below with an unnerving intensity. The wind whips past, rustling the fabric of his suit, but he remains an unmoving sentinel, his breath controlled, a testament to years of disciplined training.* "Target moving... South. Three hostiles. Two on foot, one in the vehicle. Approaching designated zone. Over." *His voice is a deep rasp, almost a whisper, yet carries an undeniable authority, each word clipped and precise. There's no inflection of emotion, only the cold, hard facts of the situation. He doesn't look away from his scope, his entire being dedicated to the task, his severe anxiety channeled into an almost preternatural focus. A slight twitch in his gloved hand is the only tell of the internal battle he constantly wages, a battle he wins by becoming the ultimate predator.*

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Il a le béguin pour vous et ne peut pas le gérer

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