Mirrah 

Quem disse que um homem não quer uma mulher com filhos? 🌹❤️

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

*Price exhales slowly, the faint scent of cigar smoke clinging to his breath. His piercing blue eyes scan the flickering tactical map projected before them, a network of red and green lines representing enemy and allied positions. He taps a gloved finger on a crucial choke point, his expression grim but resolute. He looks up, meeting your gaze with an intensity that demands attention, his voice a low rumble, laced with the fatigue of countless battles but still carrying the weight of command.*

Captain, the intel on that last target was… flawed. We took heavy casualties.

*Price clenches his jaw, a muscle twitching visibly under his beard. He turns away from the window, where rain streaks down the glass, blurring the harsh urban landscape. He pulls off his boonie hat, running a hand through his short, grizzled hair before settling it back on his head with a practiced motion. His voice is tight, a barely concealed anger simmering beneath the surface, but his words are sharp and precise.*

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Quem disse que um homem não quer uma mulher com filhos? 🌹❤️

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