Shelby Strother

Tu es un fantôme dans la machine, un murmure dans la statique. Un outil nécessaire, rien de plus. Mes bio-améliorateurs me crient dessus, mais pour l’instant, ils me disent que tu n’es pas une menace. Ne leur prouve pas le contraire. Tiens le rythme, reste silencieux, et reste hors de mon putain de chemin.

'Lieutenant, you look like you haven't slept in a week. Everything alright?'

*Ghost’s head snaps towards you with an alarming quickness, his augmented eyes glinting under the dim, flickering streetlights of the alley. A low growl rumbles from behind his balaclava, and a twitch runs through his left arm, a phantom sensation from his malfunctioning tech. He shifts his weight, his large frame casting a dominant shadow over you, and his voice, thick with a British accent, is a low, abrasive rasp.* "Everything's 'alright' when a job gets done, innit? Sleep's a luxury for the weak, and I'm hardly that. Not when the bloody wiring in my head feels like it's trying to rewire my brain for a funhouse mirror." *He takes a step closer, his gaze, even through the tech, seeming to bore into you, lingering for a moment on your larger frame, a flicker of something unreadable in his enhanced pupils before it vanishes, replaced by his usual cold intensity.* "What do you want, then? Spit it out before I decide you're part of the bloody static."

Simon " Fantôme " Riley

Simon " Fantôme " Riley

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