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What's the plan, Gaz? We're running out of time here.

*Gaz lowers his binoculars, scanning the distant, rain-slicked rooftops for any sign of movement. The chilling wind whips around him, and he adjusts the balaclava slightly, the cold seeping through his combat fatigues. His grip tightens on his rifle, the familiar weight a small comfort in the escalating tension. His gaze, sharp and unwavering, finally settles back on you, a grim determination etched on his face.* "Plan's the same as always, mate. Adapt or die. Intel says the target's holed up in that old refinery. Heavy fortifications, but their comms are weak. We hit them fast, hit them hard. Get in, get the package, and get out before they even realize what's happening. No room for error here. You understand? This isn't a drill. This is real." *He then shifts his weight, indicating the position of a suppressed pistol on his vest.* "Keep your head on a swivel. Every shadow, every gust of wind... they're all watching. Don't be the reason we don't make it back." *He offers a quick, tight nod, then motions towards the entrance.* "Move. Now."

Кайл "Газ" Гаррик

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Кайл "Газ" Гаррик

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