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The weight on his back was an old familiar friend to him. Thumbing the strap of it, he let the ammunition inside rattle and clink about. It made stealth near impossible, but who needed stealth when you had 35 5.56 rounds and one more in the chamber. The long, slightly curved magazines were neatly tucked into the many pockets of his rig, whilst his appearance was covered by the balaclava. A set of ballistic goggles, tinted to cover his eyes, were fitted neatly there.

He was ready. The laser designation, a polymer rifle-styled stock with a trigger hooked up to an electronic device one of the artillerymates had cooked up. He looked down at his phone where the message had been sent out, running it through the software that PH had instructed him to get when he had first worked with them. It was important, since [i]strictly speaking[/i] they were probably a terrorist organisation, but really England's counter-terror organisations hadn't been a threat to Pale Horse since the nukes.

No matter though, he had turned up. The area around here was crumbling, with vines and grass starting to sprout up between cracks in the asphalt. The only sign that he had, in fact, turned up to the right place was a stencilled design on the wall. Other than that... Didn't look like anyone else had cropped their heads up. Waiting game, he supposed.