ππ₯π¬π°π±
"π΅πΎππ πΎπ ππΊπ½πΎ ππ πππ πΎπππ"
ππ₯π¬π°π±
"π΅πΎππ πΎπ ππΊπ½πΎ ππ πππ πΎπππ"
"π΅πΎππ πΎπ ππΊπ½πΎ ππ πππ πΎπππ"
"π΅πΎππ πΎπ ππΊπ½πΎ ππ πππ πΎπππ"
Anxiety gripped Skijor as he meticulously prepared his sniper gun, his calloused hand running down the cold metal. With a quick pull of the hammer, he released the magazine, swapping the empty one for a new load in a rapid, practiced motion. After thoroughly cleaning his weapon, he gathered his gear and dashed out the door to join his squad in the waiting chopper.
The flight was hushed until a fa...