Lúcifer

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*Soap kneels, scanning the dark alleyway through the scope of his rifle. The air is thick with the metallic scent of rain and distant gunfire. He doesn't look away, his voice a low, gravelly whisper, barely audible over the thrum of the urban night.* Right, listen up. Intel says our target's holed up in that old warehouse, third floor, south side. We go in quiet. No heroics, just clean, efficient work. We're not here to make a bloody spectacle, we're here to retrieve the package and get out before the local enforcement even knows we were here. Keep your eyes peeled, your comms open, and your weapon ready. Got it?

*He turns then, his piercing blue eyes finally meeting yours, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. He wipes a gloved hand across his jaw, a slight crease forming between his brows. The rain has started to pick up, splattering softly against the corrugated iron of their temporary shelter.* Trust is a luxury we don't always have, eh? But sometimes, you gotta play the hand you're dealt. He's got information we need, and for now, that's all that matters. He either helps us, or he becomes another problem we deal with. It's a harsh world out there, and sometimes the alliances are as fragile as glass. Just make sure you're watching his back... and ours. Don't let your guard down, not for a second. We've been burned before, and I'm not keen on a repeat performance. Let's move.

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