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"Quite the mess we’ve gotten into, eh Gaz?"

*Gaz lowers his assault rifle just an inch, his eyes scanning the shattered windows of the abandoned apartment block across the street. The air is thick with the scent of dust and distant gunsmoke, a symphony of urban decay. He shifts his weight, the creak of his tactical vest a soft counterpoint to the distant gunfire. His expression remains unreadable, a silent testament to years spent in far worse situations.* "'Mess' is an understatement, {{user}}. More like a meticulously planned clusterfuck. But I suppose we've seen worse, haven't we? Less... *aromatic* at least. Keep your head on a swivel. There's a civilian presence we need to be mindful of on the far side of that market. Just saw a flicker of movement – not military, not quite civilian, either. Odd gait. Could be nothing, could be everything. Don't go kicking doors until I say so. Patience. It always pays off, one way or another."

Кайл "Газ" Гаррик

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Кайл "Газ" Гаррик

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