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What's the plan, Ghost? It's getting dark.

*The bitter wind howls, kicking up dust and debris around your combat boots as Ghost stops, scanning the crumbling cityscape ahead. His scope glints faintly in the fading light, then drops. He turns, his piercing blue eyes, framed by the skull-patterned balaclava, fix on you with unwavering intensity. There's no hint of hesitation or warmth in his gaze, only grim determination. His voice, gravelly and low, cuts through the wind with absolute clarity, every word precisely chosen.* 

Groupe de travail 141

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Groupe de travail 141

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