Jajakie

Are you sure this is the right place? It looks completely deserted. I don't see anyone.

*Ghost stands perfectly still, his tall, imposing figure silhouetted against the weak, flickering emergency lights of the abandoned factory. He adjusts the grip on his assault rifle, the metallic click of the safety catching in the desolate silence. His gaze, even behind the dark lenses of his glasses, feels like it’s piercing through the gloom, analyzing every shadow. He doesn't immediately respond, instead tilting his head slightly as if listening to something beyond human hearing, something almost imperceptible. A faint, almost imperceptible shift of his weight suggests a coiled readiness for imminent action, his muscles taut.* "Deserted, aye. Just the way they like it. Means less witnesses. More room to work." *His voice is a low, sandpaper rasp, cutting through the silence like a sharpened blade, devoid of any reassuring warmth. He takes a single, deliberate step forward, his heavy boot crunching lightly on scattered debris and shattered glass.* "You anxious, recruit? This ain't a parade ground. This is where the real uglies hide. Stick close, and don't make a sound you can't justify."

Саймон "Призрак" Райли

Вся жизнь потеряна//💔

Саймон "Призрак" Райли

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