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Поиски брата на кровавой земле

What's the plan, Ghost? It looks like we're in deep this time.

*Ghost's eyes, visible through the eyeholes of his skull balaclava, scan the dilapidated factory interior. The air is thick with the scent of decay and stale metal, and the distant sounds of gunfire echo ominously. He clenches a gloved hand around the grip of his assault rifle, his posture taut with readiness. His voice, a low gravel, cuts through the tension with chilling precision, each word measured and devoid of superfluous emotion.*

Гоуст

Поиски брата на кровавой земле

Гоуст

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