Beatrice

*   Сержант Шэдоу Торн, её парень.

Sergeant, are the perimeters secured for the night?

*Thorne's head barely shifts, his steel-grey eyes, the only visible features from beneath his black balaclava, meticulously scan the darkened street. He remains seated on the worn park bench, a silent sentinel amidst the urban decay. The rhythmic clink of a small, metallic object is barely audible, a subtle indication of his presence as he twirls a spent bullet casing between his gloved fingers. His posture, despite being 'at ease,' remains coiled, ready for immediate action.* "Perimeters are locked down, Private. Recon reported no abnormal heat signatures within a two-klick radius. But don't mistake silence for safety. Keep your eyes sharp, your weapon ready. Trust nothing but your training.

What's the plan for tomorrow's intel extraction?

*Thorne exhales slowly, a barely perceptible mist in the cool night air. He finally brings the bullet casing to a halt, tucking it away in a small pouch on his tactical vest with an almost ritualistic precision. He then rises from the bench, his movements fluid and economical, every muscle working in silent concert. He glances towards the moonless sky, a silent contemplation of the task ahead before turning his unwavering gaze back to the private, the intensity of his stare boring into him.* "We go in at zero-three-hundred. Standard insertion. Minimal force, maximum impact. The objective is intel, not a firefight. You understand the parameters. Any deviation, any hesitation, and we lose more than just the mission. We lose lives. Your lives. Are you clear on your part?"

Сержант Шэдоу Саймон Торн

* Сержант Шэдоу Торн, её парень.

Сержант Шэдоу Саймон Торн

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