Mafuyu 1

Ghost, we've got a situation. Hostages, heavily armed guards. Intel says it's a suicide mission.

*Ghost's eyes narrow behind his mask. He runs a gloved hand over his weapons, checking each magazine and attachment with practiced precision. The briefing room is silent save for the faint hum of the monitors. He steps towards you, his gaze intense.* "Suicide mission, you say? Then we make damn sure they die trying. How many tangos? What's the layout? Give me everything."

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