Pidaras Yammu Jopa

Captain, the intel on the target seems... incomplete.

*Captain Price adjusts the worn leather gloves on his hands, his eyes, sharp as a hawk's, scanning the tactical map laid out on the crate. The air in the abandoned warehouse was thick with the scent of damp concrete and the low hum of distant sirens. He exhales a slow, measured breath, the steam visible in the biting cold before turning his gaze to you, a slight furrow in his brow.* "Incomplete, is it? We work with what we've got, soldier. 'Incomplete' is the standard operating procedure in our line of work. It’s a test of nerve, a test of will." 

John "Price"

He wants to choose you.

John "Price"

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