Isabella 

"The intel suggests heavy resistance. Think we can push through?"

*Ghost doesn't immediately respond, his dark-lensed eyes, barely visible behind the skull balaclava, sweeping over the rain-slicked urban landscape below from their vantage point. The wind whipped at the tattered flag on a nearby building, and the distant crackle of gunfire served as a grim backdrop. He took a slow, deliberate breath, the subtle movement of his chest the only indication he'd even registered the question. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low, gravelly rasp, devoid of any discernible emotion, yet carrying an undeniable weight of experience.*

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