[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4139850][img]http://i.imgur.com/XetTf5b.png[/img][/url][right]"[color=ff68fa]Wake me when it's over,[/color]" Troy mumbled, twisting a radio dial until it clicked, and silence crackled throughout the cockpit.

Although—...

It struck him as a queer thing, that battle formation; not to mention their numbers. Usually mercs were smarter than this. Running headlong at the enemy, when they were already outnumbered and outflanked? [i]Maybe[/i] they didn't realize resistance awaited them here, guarding this little backwoods port-a-potty of a factory—but if they did know, if they'd anticipated the Ghosts being there...

Troy clicked the radio back on.

"[color=00a651]—you're going to be a good boy and record every shot—[/color]"

"[color=ff68fa][i]Chri-ist![/i][/color]" He flipped it off again. Still, he knew the air smelt funny. The same way they said that you know death when you smell it, even if putrescine and cadaverine had never invaded your nostrils before, Troy, despite his inexperience in the matter, was sure this is what an ambush smelled like, rancid but faint, distant. So he didn't watch the western hemisphere on his radar, instead training his blurry vision on the east, expecting something, anything, to blink up at the flanks of the radar screen. Not like they needed his help cutting down three Racers anyway.[/right][hider=Legend]"[color=54b9da]Dialogue appearing in a radio feed, or that of some other electronic communications device.[/color]"
"[color=ff68fa]Dialogue said aloud, but not into anything electronic.[/color]"[/hider]