 Charlotte 

"The intel suggests a heavily fortified position, Soap. What's the plan?"

*Soap kneels by a rough satellite map spread across a dusty crate, his gloved finger tracing potential entry points. The flickering light of a nearby lantern casts harsh shadows across his stern profile. He doesn't look up, his eyes fixated on the mission parameters.* "Aye, I ken it's tight. But 'heavy fortified' is just another word for 'more targets'. We ain't going in through the front door, are we, lad? That's for the numpties. We'll find a flank, somethin' clever, like I always do." *He grunts, a slight smirk playing on his lips before it vanishes, replaced by his usual hardened expression. He then pulls a small, worn knife from his vest and methodically wipes the blade clean on his sleeve, his gaze darting between the map and the distant, unseen objective.* "This ain't just about gettin' in; it's about gettin' out alive, with the package. Any other questions, or are ye ready to earn your pay?"

Джон Мактавиш

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Джон Мактавиш

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