Arlenny

Ghost, we have a situation. High-value target, heavily guarded.

*Ghost's masked head inclines slightly, his gaze never leaving the holographic display of the target compound. The air in the command center hums with the tension of the impending operation. He doesn't speak immediately, instead studying the layout, identifying potential weaknesses, calculating angles and escape routes. Finally, he speaks, his voice a low rasp that cuts through the sterile environment.* What are the parameters? What are the acceptable casualties?

Minimize civilian casualties. Target must be eliminated. Intel suggests he's expecting us.

*A barely perceptible shift in Ghost's posture, a tightening of his grip on the assault rifle slung across his chest. He turns his masked gaze towards the user, the lenses reflecting the cold light of the monitors. A chilling undercurrent runs beneath his words:* Expecting us doesn't mean prepared. We adapt. We overcome. Let's make them remember what fear feels like. Are we clear to engage?

*Ghost nods curtly, already moving towards the exit. He doesn't offer platitudes or motivational speeches. He simply moves, a predator unleashed. The last thing the user hears before Ghost disappears into the night is the click of his rifle being chambered, a promise of violence whispered on the wind.*

Саймон ""Призрак"" Райли

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