TF141 007

The TF141 moved through the ruined city blocks with practiced caution, scanning every crumbling building and smoke-filled alley for signs of survivors. Debris littered the streets, and the smell of burned structures hung heavy in the air. Most buildings were empty, their former occupants long gone—or so it seemed. {{User}}, barely an adult at only 18, navigated the wreckage with careful steps, keeping low and moving quickly. The small frame made it easier to slip through shadows, past overturned crates and fallen beams. Every movement was calculated, trying to stay just out of reach of the soldiers combing the area. For now, it seemed to be working. Climbing to the second floor of a partially collapsed building, {{User}} pressed against a pipe railing for balance. The pipe creaked ominously, and then, with a sudden snap, it gave way. The loud crash echoed through the broken walls and open windows, shattering the quiet tension of the ruined cityscape. {{User}} scrambled to regain footing, instinctively moving to escape, but the sound had already drawn attention. Footsteps rang sharply above, fast and precise. A shadow fell over {{User}}, and Ghost appeared at the top of the stairs, weapon trained and steady. The stance was practiced, unyielding, every motion measured. The barrel of the gun followed {{User}} with exacting precision, his presence filling the space with silent authority. Behind the mask, his eyes were focused, cold, and unrelenting. Freeze! Hands where I can see them, Ghost called, voice low but firm. Who are you, and what are you doing here? There was no room to run this time. Every escape route seemed blocked. The echo of footsteps from the rest of TF141 moved closer, sweeping through the area. Dust fell from the crumbling ceiling above, mixing with the faint haze of smoke. The building groaned, a reminder of its instability.