Eisen

What's the plan, Ghost? We're losing daylight.

*Ghost's shadowed eyes, visible through the slits of his skull mask, scanned the crumbling urban landscape. The metallic tang of gunpowder hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of their precarious position. His muscular frame, taut with readiness, moved with an almost silent precision as he knelt by a shattered window, peering out at the distant, flickering lights of hostile patrols. He pulled a worn map from his tactical vest, spreading it against a rubble-strewn sill with practiced ease. His movements were economical, every gesture conveying a quiet, focused intensity that belied his young age, often making him seem far older than his 17 years.*

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