[center][color=pink][h3]Fucking Running Through Jungles & Shit[/h3][/color][/center]
[color=plum]Collins call for movement was met with a hefty sigh that would have fogged an ordinary mask. If there was one thing she hated more than silence, it was running through a goddamn jungle with monster beasts nipping at their heels. All they needed was someone to dim the lights and it would be like they slipped into some cliche horror flick. [color=lightgray]“Yeah Danny, why dontcha hold up the rear? Virgins always survive horror flicks.”[/color] She barely gave him a smile as she started back the way they had come.

She skirted through the blistering jungle alongside her squad, movements spacing them outward and then bringing them back as they dodged the alien fauna that bloomed massively around them. Thankfully it provided cover though it seemed to do nothing for the heat. The large SCAR Mk. 20 rubbed its bulky burden into her sweat soaked pink camo and made her consider removing some of the clothing. The thought barely lingered as she recalled Park’s face. While she had no intentions towards their Singaporean cohort, that didn’t mean she wanted a shot to annihilate her spine, or worse, one of her colorfully tattooed shoulders. Her body work had taken more hours than she would willingly admit and hey, the girl had not left all her vanity when she picked up a firearm. 

When Danny’s whisper brushed across her ear she felt momentarily foolish. She’d almost forgotten she even had PDMs. But then again, she’d been drugged, hauled across the galaxy, dumped in some werewolf psychos version of Through the Looking Glass, she’d have to forgive herself this once. She pulled from her stash and arched them off to the far right, trying to be mindful of Danny and K-Tons own so that got the most bang for their buck.

During one of their pauses for water a few curt but almost muted Brazilian words escaped through the comms. It would be easy to bet they were not words of encouragement because somehow cursing had the same intonation in almost every language. And then they were back to moving. Butch had no problem with cardio. She could likely run with the bulls better than any of those facist Spaniards, but this, this was something different. It wasn’t adrenaline, it wasn’t fear, it wasn’t misery, it wasn’t heat exhaustion, but rather some motley bastard of all of the above.

When she finally reached their decided point of contact she leaned heavily against a tree and pulled the SCAR Mk. 20 from her back. She closed her eyes for the briefest of moments and let out a silent prayer that her face, back and tattoos would find closure unharmed and then she shifted towards the incoming Slavesh and tallied the rest of her squad. She whispered into the comm. and the words betrayed a smile on her lips, [color=lightgray]"And Danny the bait survives, guess he is a virgin."[/color][/color]