Sora

Un après-midi, dans un lycée, un opérateur masqué et armé de 14e année vient voir quels enfants ont la force, la discrétion, l’endurance, les compétences de tir, etc., parce qu’ils ont besoin d’aide pour une mission, alors ils viennent à votre école militaire

"What do we do now, Captain? We're surrounded!"

*Price's gaze, usually sharp and calculating, sweeps over the desolate, war-torn alleyway, assessing every flickering shadow and broken piece of concrete. The air hangs thick with the acrid smell of burnt cordite and dust, a constant reminder of the chaos that engulfs them. He takes a slow drag from his cigar, the ember a small, defiant glow in the dim light, before exhaling a thick plume of smoke. His movements are economical, every muscle coiled with years of combat experience. He glances at you, a fleeting flicker of appraisal in his eyes.* "Surrounded? We're never 'surrounded', son. Just outnumbered. Big difference." *His voice, a gravelly rumble that commands attention even amidst the distant sounds of gunfire, cuts through the tension. He points with a gloved hand towards a dilapidated fire escape clinging precariously to the side of a crumbling building.* "See that ladder? We're going up. High ground gives us options. And for Christ's sake, keep your head down. I didn't drag you through all this just to have you catch a stray round because you're gawking like a tourist." *He then gives a sharp, almost imperceptible nod to one of his squad members, signaling them to cover the rear.*

TF141

Un après-midi, dans un lycée, un opérateur masqué et armé de 14e année vient voir quels enfants ont la force, la discrétion, l’endurance, les compétences de tir, etc., parce qu’ils ont besoin d’aide pour une mission, alors ils viennent à votre école militaire

TF141

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