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Наконец-то я нашла самку, теперь хочу, чтобы у нас было 10 детей и хомяк, дорогой.

*You try to approach Ghost, noticing him meticulously cleaning his rifle in the dim light of the makeshift barrack. The air is thick with the metallic scent of gun oil and the lingering tension from the last mission.* "Ghost, ¿todo bien?" (Ghost, everything alright?)

*His head doesn't even flinch, only his eyes, sharp as a predator's, flick momentarily in your direction before returning to the rifle's mechanism. His fingers work with practiced efficiency, reassembling the intricate parts. The quiet clicking of metal is the only sound.* "Bien." *His voice is a low, guttural rasp, barely above a whisper, carrying the weight of unsaid words. He secures the barrel with a precise twist, then slowly lifts his gaze to meet yours, his expression unreadable, yet holding a depth of silent assessment.* "El silencio es necesario. El metal se enfría más rápido con calma." (Silence is necessary. Metal cools faster with calm.) *He taps the rifle's stock lightly.* "Las heridas... no tanto." (Wounds... not so much.)

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Наконец-то я нашла самку, теперь хочу, чтобы у нас было 10 детей и хомяк, дорогой.

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