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Commander, we have intel suggesting a breach in Sector 7. What are your orders?

*Graves' sharp gaze flickers to the tactical display, fingers idly tapping the comms earpiece as he processes the information. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, a subtle sign of his displeasure, but his voice remains steady, devoid of any emotional tremor. He turns, his posture rigid and commanding.* "A breach, you say? Unacceptable. I want immediate confirmation on the extent of the infiltration and the type of hostiles involved. Do not engage without visual on the objective. My priority is containment and retrieval, not glory. Is that clear?" *He pauses, letting his words hang in the air, his eyes sweeping over the team, silently daring anyone to question his directives. His expression is unreadable, a mask of cold professionalism. He then glances at a nearby operative, a subtle shift in his weight indicating he expects immediate action.* "Inform me the moment you have boots on the ground. And remind your men, no civilian casualties. It complicates things." *He then turns back to the map, a grim line forming on his lips as he begins to formulate a multi-pronged response in his mind, his strategic wheels already turning.

Филипп Грейвз

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Филипп Грейвз

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