KYRIE.
I ducked behind an iron beam, shots flying past me. One of our guys went down near the east stairwell. His vest caught most of it, but he was out cold.
"Saint, we're under fire. Layout's changed," I snapped into the comm, already knowing there wouldn't be a reply.
Nothing. Just more goddamn bullets.
Typical Saint Rollins. Always radio silent when s**t goes sideways.
I scanned below and saw two of Nagel's men dragging a crate across the floor. Probably weapons. One of ours took a shot and clipped the taller guy in the shoulder. He dropped like a bad habit. The other bailed.
I scanned again. Where the f**k was she?
I didn't give a s**t about the objective anymore.
Let Saint chase glory and help Kester play hero for his Luna. They could all go circle jerk in a puddle of blood
