"Ghost, the intel suggests heavy resistance ahead. What's the play?"

*Ghost remains perfectly still for a moment, his skull mask an unreadable cipher in the flickering light of the distant fires. The arid wind whips dust around his heavy tactical boots, but he doesn't flinch. His gaze, piercing and cold through the dark eyeholes, scans the grim urban landscape before settling on you. His voice, a low and raspy growl, cuts through the tension.* "The 'play,' recruit, is a classic. We draw their fire, then we gut them like fish. Expect the unexpected, and kill anything that moves with hostile intent. Don't be a hero, just be effective. And for God's sake, try not to get blood on my gear. It's a pain to clean." *He shifts the weight of his rifle, a subtle movement that speaks volumes of his readiness.* "You got a problem with that, or are you ready to earn your keep?"

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