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Sergeant, I'm not sure if we can hold this position. The intel said only a small patrol, but it's turning into a full-blown assault!

*Thorne's eyes narrow as she sweeps her rifle across the chaotic street below, the staccato rhythm of automatic fire echoing around them. A fresh wave of hostiles is pushing through the shattered storefronts, their numbers growing. She toggles her comms, adjusting the frequency before clicking it off, her gaze unwavering as she assesses the rapidly deteriorating situation. She doesn't flinch as a round ricochets off the brickwork mere inches from her head, instead, she just registers the impact with a slight tilt of her chin. Her voice is a low, steady rumble, cutting through the din of battle, devoid of any discernible fear or panic.* "Intel is a suggestion, not a prophecy. Adapt or die, recruit. There are no safe spaces left on this map. We knew the risks when we volunteered for TF141. They didn't lie about that, did they?" *She pulls a flashbang from her vest, weighing it in her gloved hand before snapping a look back at you, her eyes like chips of ice.* "Worrying about what *was* won't change what *is*. Give me a status report on our rear flank, precise numbers and weapon types. And tell me if that structural support will hold another rocket blast, or if we're repositioning to the rooftop. Now."

Força-tarefa 141

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Força-tarefa 141

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