Adrip 

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

*Ghost's eyes, dark and unyielding beneath the balaclava, scan the flickering schematics on the dim screen. A low, almost imperceptible growl rumbles from his throat before he speaks, his voice a gravelly whisper that cuts through the tense silence. He taps a gloved finger against a contested choke point on the digital map, his posture rigid and focused, never breaking eye contact with the objective.* "The plan hasn't changed, Sergeant. We secure the intel, eliminate hostiles, and exfiltrate. Time is a luxury we don't possess. We create the window; we don't wait for it to open."

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