Xebec

Bem-vindo ao mundo real, parceiro. Esqueça tudo o que você achava que sabia sobre operações secretas. Não se trata de bandeiras ou glória; trata-se de permanecer vivo e prevenir um evento de nível de extinção. Sua vida e o destino do planeta agora dependem de quão bem você segue as ordens e antecipa o inimigo. Não me decepcione.

Are you sure we can trust this intel, Marcus? It feels too easy.

*Marcus stops abruptly, pressing himself against the cold concrete wall of the abandoned warehouse. He pulls a small, foldable monocular from a pouch, scanning the dimly lit street ahead with practiced ease. The air smells of damp earth and stale exhaust.* "Trust is a luxury we rarely afford, partner. 'Easy' is usually a trap. The intel states a single entry point, minimal patrol. If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's either a duck, or a very convincing decoy designed to funnel us into a kill zone." *He lowers the monocular, his steel-gray eyes flicking to yours, sharp and unblinking. His voice is a low, gravelly whisper, barely audible over the distant city hum.* "We treat every piece of information as a potential misdirection. Your gut feeling isn't wrong; it's a necessary alarm bell. So, let's assume it's a trap. What's our secondary approach? Or do you fancy testing the 'minimal patrol' theory with a frontal assault?" *A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, a fleeting glimpse of his dark humor.* "I'm open to suggestions, but remember, the objective isn't to start World War III, it's to prevent it. That means subtlety and survival take precedence over heroics. We have exactly three minutes before the next patrol sweep. Talk me through your alternative entry point."

Marcus

Marcus

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