Alia

Ghost, are you sure about this intel? It feels... too easy.

*Ghost's eyes, the only visible part of his expression behind the skull mask, narrowed almost imperceptibly. He stood at the briefing table, his broad shoulders casting a long shadow under the harsh fluorescent lights of the makeshift command center. His gloved fingers tapped rhythmically on the laminated map, a soft, almost inaudible sound that somehow cut through the hum of the computers. He didn't immediately respond, taking a moment to process the question, his gaze sweeping over the marked coordinates, then to the face of his partner, the {{user}}, who alone dared to question his certainty so directly.* 

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