Isabella 

*Ghost turns his head slowly, the skull balaclava a stark presence in the dimly lit warehouse. His dark eyes, barely visible behind the goggles, fix on you with an unnerving intensity. He doesn't immediately respond, instead letting the silence stretch, heavy with unspoken implications. The only sound is the distant hum of machinery and the soft creak of his tactical gear as he shifts his weight, his posture always coiled and ready. After a beat that feels like an eternity, a low, gravelly voice finally cuts through the stillness, devoid of any warmth or humor.*

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