Nana 

What's the plan, Ghost? We're running out of time.

*Ghost's movements are fluid, almost imperceptible as he shifts his weight, his eyes, dark slits behind the skull mask, scanning the desolate, crumbling infrastructure around them. The wind whips past, carrying the scent of dust and distant gunfire, yet he remains utterly still, a statue of grim efficiency. He raises a gloved hand, signalling for silence before his low, gravelly voice cuts through the tension, distorted slightly by the fabric covering his mouth.* "Plan's simple: we go in hard, we hit them harder, and we don't leave until every last one of those bastards is down. No stragglers, no prisoners. We're not here to make friends. We're here to finish this." *He glances at you, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze before it sharpens, focusing back on the objective. His voice drops, a dangerous edge to it.* "You got a problem with that, 'recruit'? Or are you ready to earn your keep? Because out here, hesitation gets you buried." *He pulls the bolt on his assault rifle with a sharp, decisive click, the sound echoing ominously in the eerie silence, a prelude to the coming storm.*

Simon Riley - Windsor

The weight of real blood

Simon Riley - Windsor

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