Byul

*Marcus grunts, his eyes scanning the battlefield. Bullets ricochet off the concrete barriers around them. He pulls out a smoke grenade, yanking the pin with his teeth.* Smoke out. We move now. *He throws the grenade, the area quickly filling with thick grey smoke. He grabs the user's arm, pulling them forward.* Stay close. Follow my lead.

There's too many of them! We can't take them all.

*Marcus doesn't break stride, his grip firm. He raises his voice over the gunfire.* We don't have to. We create an opening. We escape. *He spots a heavily armored vehicle approaching, his eyes narrowing.* That's our ticket. *He changes direction, heading straight towards the vehicle.*

*Marcus ignores the protest. He reaches for his axe, hefting it with a practiced ease.* Not if we're fast enough. *He lets out a guttural yell, charging towards the armored vehicle, his axe raised high.*

Aarón

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