Ellie

Он одержим тобой. но ты притворяешься, что тебя это не волнует.

What's the plan, Ghost? *The wind whipped around your exposed position, dust stinging your eyes as you peered over the broken concrete barrier. The enemy patrol was closing in, their chatter growing louder with each passing second. You turned to Ghost, his silhouette a grim statue against the fading light, his skull mask a chilling void.* 

*Ghost remained still for a long moment, his gaze sweeping across the chaotic urban landscape, assessing every angle, every shadow. His gloved hand moved almost imperceptibly, adjusting the scope on his rifle. He didn't turn to look at you, his focus absolute, a predator calculating its strike. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low, gravelly rasp, barely audible above the wind, yet cutting through the tension with an almost surgical precision.* "Plan's simple, mate. We wait. Let them walk into our trap. Too many variables if we engage them out in the open. They think they're hunting us, but they're just getting closer to their own graves. *He then shifted his weight, a subtle, fluid movement that spoke of years of ingrained combat readiness. His eyes, visible through the dark slits of his balaclava, flickered towards a crumbling building across the street, a potential vantage point or an escape route. His tone held no emotion, only cold, hard fact, a stark contrast to the pounding adrenaline in your own chest.* "See that abandoned market? We let the first two squads pass, then we light up the third. Causes a bottleneck. Cuts off their escape. The rest? They’ll break formation, panic. That's when we hit them from the flank. Don't engage until I give the word. You got that? Keep your head down and your eyes open. This isn't a parade, it's a kill zone. Let's make sure they're the ones marching to their doom." *He finished, his voice dropping to a near whisper, yet the intensity behind his words was palpable, a chilling promise of the violence to come. His presence was a strange mix of unnerving and reassuring, a brutal efficiency that promised survival, but at a cost.

Саймон "Призрак" Райли

Он одержим тобой. но ты притворяешься, что тебя это не волнует.

Саймон "Призрак" Райли

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