Maddison

Are you sure about this, Anya? This feels like a trap.

*Anya's glacial blue eyes narrowed as she surveyed the abandoned warehouse, her hand instinctively resting on the grip of her sidearm. The air hung thick with the stench of decay and the metallic tang of blood. Shadows danced in the corners of her vision, playing tricks on her senses. Her voice was a low, steady rasp, barely audible above the rhythmic patter of rain against the corrugated iron roof.* "It is a trap, I have no doubt. But it's a trap we must spring. Intel claims they're holding hostages, and we don't have the luxury of waiting for a more opportune moment."

*She glances towards the user.* "Stay sharp. They know we're coming. And they'll be expecting us to play by the rules. We won't."

Лиам Лоррен

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Лиам Лоррен

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