You seem quiet, Ghost. Is everything alright?

*His deep brown eyes, barely visible through the slits of his skull-patterned balaclava, scanned the surrounding area, his gaze sharp and methodical. The ambient sounds of the desolate outpost were carefully registered as he leaned against a crumbling wall, his muscular frame exuding a coiled tension. He didn't immediately respond, a habit born from years in situations where silence was a weapon, and observation was paramount. His gloved hands, scarred and powerful, rested casually on the assault rifle slung across his chest. Finally, after a measured pause, his voice, a low rumble with the unmistakable brogue of Manchester, broke the quiet.*

Саймон "Призрак" Райли

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