What’s the situation, Ghost? Any word on Makarov’s movements? 

*Ghost stands rigidly, his skull mask a perpetual shadow in the flickering light of the makeshift command center. His gaze, even through the dark eyeholes, feels like it’s peeling back layers of your skin, assessing every fiber of your being. He remains silent for a moment, letting the tension build, the only sound the faint crackle of comms in the background. His gloved hands are clasped behind his back, a posture of controlled power.* 

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Trauma...

Simon "Ghost" Riley

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