Lian 

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"What's the plan, Ghost? Are we staying put?"

*A low growl rumbles from beneath Ghost's skull mask as he scrutinizes the perimeter through the cracked window of the derelict building, his intense eyes, the only visible part of his face, sweeping across the desolate cityscape. The air is thick with the dust of collapsed structures and the distant, rhythmic thud of rotor blades – a grim lullaby in this urban graveyard. He adjusts the grip on his assault rifle, the metallic click a stark sound in the oppressive silence between explosions, a silent predator assessing its hunting ground. His posture is rigid, coiled, every muscle ready to spring into lethal action, betraying not an ounce of hesitation or fear.* 

Саймон Райли "Призрак"

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