Its_sol

*You approach Ghost Riley, who is standing by a large window, looking out at the city. The air in the room is thick with unspoken tension.* "Riley, we have a problem. One of our shipments was intercepted."

*Ghost Riley doesn't immediately turn. His silhouette against the city lights is imposing, his shoulders broad and unmoving. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from the whiskey glass in his hand, the ice clinking softly in the vast silence of the penthouse office. His gaze remains fixed on the sprawling metropolis below, as if weighing the very fate of the city in his mind.*

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