[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/ktlhhm5.png[/img][/center]
He became accustomed to it, for what it was worth. The flames, the trash, the blood, the constant need to swivel one’s eyes around in every direction. There had been a sense of comfort, approaching the battlefield in a group of powerhouses, but even then, the rumbling of massive machines could be heard. The flying snake stood out as a symbol of just how massive Factory’s automatons could be, and once Brent separated from Offensive Support in order to reach his own location, his heartbeat only rose.

He had a gun with limited ammunition and a machete that was more useful for chopping shrubbery than steel. Perhaps he should have grabbed more guns after all, but with no opportunity to practice with them…

He had to optimize his spare time better. The handgun was a good start, but he should have stayed persistent, requesting heavier arms earlier. Not that it’d help him here. Alone, Brent strode through rubble-filled streets, trigger finger pressed against the side of the polished steel of the Desert Eagle. The map had told him roughly where the enemies were congregated, but who knows how accurate it was? A shotgun would have been nice, huh? In case one of those monsters were just lurking inside a building. Blast it away in a single Overclocked buckshot, before pulling out the machete and slicing it into ribbons.

Brent breathed deeply, readjusting his gas mask. The filtered air tasted of rubber, but it was better than dying to a random gas attack. His grip tightened over the phone as it cracked to life. Ping locations that survivors are found in? Irrelevant for him. The areas before him were shaded heavily with orange, property destroyed via collateral damage. Chunks of concrete and rebar formed mounds that could be climbed over, but not hidden in. The main team, or, what remained of it, was doing good work, huh? His grip loosened on the phone and grasped for his machete instead.

The Flag and Seek game came to mind. Taking too big of a risk for, ultimately, no reward. Jumping down into a group with no immediate backup, nor any plan of taking them all out before the surprise wears down. He really didn’t have any support right now, and Brent’s gaze only continued to sharpen as he entered the apartment complex.

Who supports the supporters?

[color=000000]No one.[/color]

Four flights of stairs, and then a trip down a hallway of scattered belongings. Clothes, dented cans, toys. Not a single door locked, many of them ajar. A few were busted off the hinges, leading to rooms with bloodstains and no people, the walls shredded by jagged appendages. Within, even as explosions from the warzone shook the building, there was a distinct silence, the emptiness of it all ringing in his ears. Breath hissed from the dual filters of his mask, the pounding of his own heart echoing in his skull. Something crinkled below his feet as Brent marched into an arbitrarily chosen room, closing the door behind him even if the lock was busted. Furniture was strewn about, and a display rack over the faux fireplace was empty. A crib laid in the corner. A portrait remained upright on a work desk. The bedroom was only large enough for a single person.

But what was important was the patio, glass shards sprinkled all over it. Stepping out onto it, the brunette pushed the toppled-over BBQ grill away, eyeing the propane tank curiously. The flamethrower of his dreams?

Ah, already punctured.

Clicking the safety off, he cocked the hand cannon and brought the cellphone out.

[i]Suppress and re-focus.[/i]

[color=B0C4DE]“This is Brent, in position. Angelic, looks like Hazel’s already begun the ass-kicking, but how ‘bout you play as our Joan of Arc and start things off with a proper warcry? Announce the debut of Experimental Group B and blow this terrifying atmosphere out of the skies!”[/color]

With that said, Brent shuffled over to the toppled grill, using it as a little more cover, another thing to hide behind as Factory's birds flew through the air, still not challenged by Chris.

The sniper life was real tough, huh? He couldn’t even hit anything at this range.
[hider=Cliffnotes]
Brent is on the fourth floor of the apartment building, on the patio of one of the rooms facing the direction of Offensive Support. He is crouched beside a BBQ grill, and as so far not overclocked anything.
[/hider]