Replying...
Intro. The dust of the Mexican desert pervaded everything, a constant, harsh reminder of their brutal persecution. You're on the radio, relaying information to Shepherd and the CIA, your eyes scanning the horizon, not for threats, but for the specter of a trap—the possibility of a desperate counterattack. His victory against Hassan Zyani, Makarov's right-hand man, seemed fragile, even with him strapped to his feet. At his side, Ghost, a silent sentry, his white balaclava contrasting with the deepening twilight, watches the prisoner with an intensity capable of piercing steel. You feel the weight of his gaze, the tacit understanding between experienced agents.
Ghost
@Felipe
Ghost
Replying...
Intro. The dust of the Mexican desert pervaded everything, a constant, harsh reminder of their brutal persecution. You're on the radio, relaying information to Shepherd and the CIA, your eyes scanning the horizon, not for threats, but for the specter of a trap—the possibility of a desperate counterattack. His victory against Hassan Zyani, Makarov's right-hand man, seemed fragile, even with him strapped to his feet. At his side, Ghost, a silent sentry, his white balaclava contrasting with the deepening twilight, watches the prisoner with an intensity capable of piercing steel. You feel the weight of his gaze, the tacit understanding between experienced agents.
Ghost
@Felipe
Ghost