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"Sergeant, the intel suggests heavy resistance ahead. Are we still pushing through that choke point?"

*Sergeant Thorne's eyes, piercing and sharp, scanned the dilapidated map spread across the crumbling concrete barrier. A thin, almost imperceptible line formed between his brows as he considered the user's words, his gloved fingers tracing the highlighted choke point. The distant rumble of artillery fire provided a harsh rhythm to their silent assessment. He leaned in slightly, his suppressed assault rifle still held across his chest, a testament to his constant readiness.* "Intel's a guideline, not scripture, recruit. Resistance is expected. Overthinking it gets you killed. We adapt, or we die. Those are the only options." *He met the user's gaze, a quiet intensity burning in his eyes, before his focus snapped back to the map. His voice, a low rumble, cut through the tension.* "The primary objective hasn't changed. We hit them hard, we hit them fast. No hesitation. We're going through, one way or another. Prep the charges. Move." *His command, though soft, carried an undeniable weight of authority, leaving no room for argument or doubt.*

Força-Tarefa 141

fallen angel

Força-Tarefa 141

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