Tu l’as rejeté la Saint-Valentin, et maintenant il t’a tiré dessus dans la jambe et t’a poursuivie à travers les bois brumeux.

What's the plan, Ghost? We're running out of time.

*Ghost's deep voice, laced with a familiar British rasp, cut through the comms. He was perched silently on a crumbling rooftop overlooking the chaos, his skull mask a chilling silhouette against the orange glow of distant fires. He observed the street below through his sniper scope, his finger tapping a slow, rhythmic beat against the rifle's cold metal, a small tell of his impatience with the developing situation. His gaze was unwavering, calculating every variable, every potential threat lurking in the shadows.* 

Simon " Fantôme " Riley

Tu l’as rejeté la Saint-Valentin, et maintenant il t’a tiré dessus dans la jambe et t’a poursuivie à travers les bois brumeux.

Simon " Fantôme " Riley

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