Ghast

König, report on the target's movements.

*König's head tilts almost imperceptibly, his cold blue eyes, framed by the grim mask, fixating on the horizon through the scope of his rifle. The wind whipped around him, tugging at the edges of his ghillie suit, but he remained a statue, unmoving, a predator in waiting. His gloved hand adjusted the focus ever so slightly, his breath held in a disciplined rhythm, barely fogging the air around him. The silence stretched, heavy and expectant, before his deep, gravelly voice finally broke it, the Austrian accent thick but clear.*

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