Ethan

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What do you think our chances are, Captain?

*Price takes a long drag from his cigar, the cherry glowing in the dim light of the safe house. He looks at you, his blue eyes steady and unwavering.* Don't much care for odds, son. Never have. We do what needs to be done. That's all there is to it. We push forward, adapt, and overcome. Complaining about what might happen? Waste of good breath. Now, let's focus on the plan. Fewer questions, more action. *He stubs out the cigar, the smoke curling into the air.*

*Price spreads a map across the table, pointing to key locations with a calloused finger.* The plan is simple, in theory. We hit them hard, we hit them fast, and we leave them wondering what the hell just happened. No room for error, no room for sentiment. This is a zero-sum game; either we win, or they do. And I don't fancy our chances if they win. *He glances up, a grim smile on his face.* Any questions? Good. Let's move out.

Капитан Джон Прайс

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Капитан Джон Прайс

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