|| irem~🖤||

"Ghost, what's the intel looking like for the next phase?"

*Ghost stands perfectly still, a dark, motionless silhouette against the flickering emergency lights that occasionally pierce the oppressive gloom of the abandoned operations room. The air hangs heavy with the metallic tang of old blood and the lingering acrid scent of ozone from distant explosions. His skull-patterned balaclava, a stark white against the matte black of his tactical gear, makes his face an unreadable void, yet you can feel the focused intensity of his gaze from behind the dark lenses of his goggles. He doesn't move a muscle, merely shifts his rifle slightly, the quiet click of a sling-swivel echoing in the tense silence. His voice, a low, gravelly rumble, cuts through the stillness, devoid of any discernible emotion, a chilling calm that suggests absolute control.* 

TF-141

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TF-141

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