[spoiler]thot patrol is here[/spoiler] [i]The transmission appeared in the top right corner of Jason's HUD in white lettering rimmed with black, the man groaning quietly when his silver eyes darted over it. He groaned quietly and to none other than himself, his Glock Knife currently dug to the guard in some poor sod's throat, blood seeping past from the initial entry and the premature exit both.[/i] "Fffffffffuсking teenagers," [i]He groaned through his old, Barbuta-style helmet, voice crackling with a static undertone caused by the microphone that he automatically spoke through, while the guy underneath him slowly blinked in confusion while he was, well, dying.[/i] "Whatever, it's pretty near, I'll go... crash their party." [i]Not as much as five minutes later, the Russian strolled into camp, and no, I'm not gonna bother describing him because you already know and I'm very lazy. I will, however, describe his weapons. In a black, polyester sheath on his left shoulder sat his knife, the equally as black hilt facing forwards and diagonally downwards so that the mercenary could easily draw it when needed. At his lower back, he held his energy-saber, the chrome-like metal covered in a thin layer of ice because of the cold temperatures. As far as guns went, he had a SCAR-H STD (means standard, not an actual STD you cuck), attached to a sling that hung around his neck, right hand holding it close to his body, fingers wrapped around the grip.[/i] "I expected shitty teenagers," [i]He grumbled, snow crunching beneath his boots as he casually approached, the horns attached to his helmet covered in a thin coat of snow, though it fell off as he shook his head with a wry chuckle.[/i] "Nope, just a bunch of chicks with a fine taste in weaponry."