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[centre][h1][color=Silver]Greg Kennedy[/color][/h1][/centre]
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      [Color=Gray]Greg looked as more and more entered, filling the room with even more awkward faces. It wasn't of any actual intelligence that Greg knew these people, yet he was fully prepared for the man himself to stroll in. [B]Mack Yancy[/B] strolled in, smelling of defeat and low-life material. It wasn't the most inspiring greeting he'd have the pleasure of experiencing, but nonetheless it was one he could get used to. The thick smell of alcohol was something he grew up knowing, even having a few pints himself at the Young-Adult age. Anyway, he smiled as the man was surprised of his presence. Greg leant off of the counter, holding his arms out as if showing himself.
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[Color=silver][b]"Alive and in the flesh, lad. And I'd prefer to not go by Mercenary...has a horrid tone to it, no offence guys."[/b][/color] [color=gray]He spoke to everyone during the last subordinate clause, just in case his nice reputation took a massive dive and he appeard as a pompous prick. He let out another one of his known smirks, walking up to his alliance to shake his hand before being interrupted by the hauling of heavy material. He turned to the source, seeing the lively Brit trek in with a crate larger than many would suspect. Opening it, he glanced at the seemingly endless supply of weapons that upheaded the attention of literally everyone in the room. As eager hands began to rummage through the boxes, a well-mannered man started to return the specialised gifts he had in store. A Rifle was handed to the marksman, keys to some sort of unknown motor vehicle were handed to the female Greg had sort of spoken to, seemingly the only one who'd interacted with him. It was quite sad, seeing so many dull and uninterested hardasses ignore or disregard what he tried to say. Back in the Kingdom, any soldier wouldn't back down from a good conversation and a crate-load-of-banter. Well, the States had its own little flaws...[i]Little[/i].

      The British brethren appointed himself and the other two where their gear was being held, allowing them to go retrieve it. He smirked as he went closer to the stair-well, getting ready to ascend towards his prize. Hearing more commotion, something caught him off. A whizz, a literal whizz. A ping and a splatter. He turned as glass and skin shattered through the impact of a round. Craig toppled onto the floor, falling back from the impact. Mack was instantly at his side, before a hellstorm of rounds and projectiles found themselves breaking into the building. He ducked quickly, before looking towards his companions. Everyone seemed to be doing what they could to avoid getting shot. Greg himself...Well he turned to Lilly, the appointed leader for temporary means.[/color]

[Color=Silver][b]"Holy...Shit! You! Fucking...I don't know...Oversee these lot! I'll be right b-back!"[/b][/color] [color=gray]He could've sworn she'd said something in return, but the sound of gunfire and bullets impacting the walls and furniture seemed to make it difficult to pinpoint exact words and phrases. He took off up the stairs, stumbling as he left the room downstairs. As he reached the top, he leant himself against the wall in a sitting posture. His breath was long, dragging ahead as he heard the fire continue. This whole situation came as a shock, something he should've suspected. It all seemed too familiar...far too familiar. His eyes scanned for the bedroom, seeing a door that had been peppered with stray bullets. Taking a deep sigh, he raised himself to his feet, a whistle in the air as the window beside him cracked under fire. Greg ducked and weaved as he darted for his only hope for safety and possibility to be of some use. Everyone downstairs must be far more elite and capable, par the drunken Mack. He almost felt like a burden to the group, having nothing much to boast about apart from hiding behind a shield.

     As the door cracked open, he ran inside to grab whatever he could. There was the gear that the possibly now dead individual had promised. And upon a rack by the window, four different Shields laid waiting for the picking. As he approached it, the projectile found a way to intercept the window. A crack and a sudden force made his legs go numb as he fell. A pain filled his shoulders, suddenly a flicker of blood flashed out into the carpet and staining both his face and clothing. A yelp and pain came from the room. The injury began to kick in, having those painful effects. Greg was right to think this was familiar...It was almost exactly like the Sydney Opera House raid. With barely enough strength, mainly wasted my the shock of the bullet, he reached an arm out-stretched. Glass chipping away from the window was plunged into him, cutting thin wounds into his cheeks and hands. Prevailing in his task, he grabbed the first shield. He staggered to his feet, moving out of the room and leaving a thin trail of blood behind him. Downstairs, the endless siege of gunfire reigned supreme, as he finally stumbled down the brutalised staircase. Returning to the scene, now having a deep blotch of oozing liquids, he brought himself into a dangerous stance. He practically set himself up for a clear shot, breathing heavily with the struggle. With the arm slung into the Shield's trigger, he noticed a button as bullets flew past his head. Without thinking, his thumb launched itself into it, as the bottom and side folds within the shield expanded. It popped out, revealing enough cover him him to basically stand up with protection. Greg staggered at the Shield's jolt, looking through the Letter-Box viewpoint. He had returned to the scene with whatever he could do. He felt the bullets begin go pepper themselves across the plating, combating the two forces. Greg began to stel forward, his left leg now trudging and dripping with the slow blood that seeped from his shoulder. He moved closer and closer to the front of the struggling group, holding an injured yet firm  stance to the window that Craig had been shot from. Taking a pace in front of Mack, he made sure the coverage reached his body, himself Still at the controls. Greg let out a yell, both in pain and support.[/color]

[Color=Silver][b]"S-Stay Behind M-Me!"[/b][/color]