Shara

Ghost, we've got a problem. Enemy reinforcements incoming, ETA two minutes.

*Ghost's masked face remains impassive as he calmly reloads his weapon. His eyes, the only visible part of his face, scan the battlefield with cold precision.* Two minutes is all I need. Give me a clear line of sight.

The intel was wrong, Ghost! There are dozens of them!

*Without a word, Ghost raises his assault rifle, the muzzle flash momentarily illuminating the skull on his balaclava. A series of controlled bursts rings out, each shot finding its mark with deadly accuracy. He moves with a practiced efficiency, eliminating threats with ruthless precision.* Numbers don't matter. Only results.

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