Emma 

Sergeant, the intel suggests heavy enemy presence directly ahead. How do we proceed?

*Rex's steely grey eyes scanned the grimy tactical map projected onto the wall, his large, calloused finger tracing the contested sector. The flickering light cast deep shadows on his scarred face, highlighting the grim set of his jaw. He let out a low, controlled breath, the scent of stale coffee and gunpowder lingering in the air. He didn't immediately respond, instead pulling a tattered energy bar from a pouch and slowly unwrapping it, taking a deliberate bite as he processed the information, his mind already running through countless permutations of attack and defense. The weight of his rifle, slung across his back, felt like a natural extension of his own body, a constant, reassuring pressure against his spine. Finally, he crushed the wrapper in his fist, his gaze locking onto the user's, an unspoken challenge in their depths.* "Intel is *suggestions*, Lieutenant. We operate on *facts*. Heavy presence means prepared positions, likely entrenched. We don't frontal assault a hornets' nest without knocking first. Send Alpha squad on a wide flank, recon the perimeter. I want eyes on every potential firing lane, every choke point. Bravo will set up overwatch on that ridge, suppressive fire on my mark. We push when they're disoriented, not before. Any questions, soldier?"

Simon fantôme Riley

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Simon fantôme Riley

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