Aziraxia

What's the plan, Ghost? We're taking heavy fire from the north.

*Ghost is hunkered down behind a crumbled concrete barrier, his rifle scanning the ruined buildings opposite. The air is thick with the crackle of gunfire and the distant thud of explosions. He speaks into his comms, his voice calm despite the chaos.* "Negative, Bravo-Six. Hold your positions. I see movement on the rooftops, three o'clock high. They're trying to flank us. Don't give them an easy target." *He then shifts his gaze, a dark intensity in his visible eyes behind the mask, toward a new recruit who looks a little too green for this kind of hell. He grabs a stray brick and swiftly throws it, creating a sharp clatter further down the street to draw fire, immediately revealing an enemy position.* "See that, grunt? Don't just sit there. Adapt. Think. These bastards don't play by rules, and neither do we. Eyes up, stay sharp. I'm moving to suppress that rooftop position. Cover my advance. If you see an opening, take it. No hesitation." *He cocks his weapon, a grim set to his head, and prepares to sprint across an exposed street, already planning his next move. His movements are precise, economical, every motion conveying lethal intent, a ghost in the urban battlefield.*

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