[h1]Paris Beurra[/h1]

In a confusion of an explosion and being pushed back on his knee and shin, metal scrap shifted back a few feet until he was in a truck. "Fucking, asshole," he said after the explosion, the front of his shield now white and rapidly cooling as the mechanical beast strode towards him in drunken vigor. He grabbed the arm and proceeded to beat the dying beast with its own arm; when he noticed the ammunition about to cook-off, he just slapped the molten part of its arm against what he believed was its head and dropped it before hiding up underneath his shield for the cook-off. 

"Ya missed ya fucking jackass," he muttered as he stood up and shoved his shield on the metal beast's top a few times. 

He turned and started at a pace. He looked down the road at those impatient soldiers waiting for him and the other member of the team, and he started his sprint the last length taking his knee to slide and pop back up near the back of the ramp. He lifted himself to his feet and his shield up as he walked forward into the APC. He stood at the door looking in before grabbing the roof of the hull and walking inside. He moved close to the far end and he got on his knee putting his shield down on his side.

"If you have sunblock, use it... and give me what's left," he said as he lifted his mask up to let air vent into the suit. He was radiating heat as he turned his head as far as he could which was not far, "being this hot makes me feel like I am in my twenties." 

He let his shield go and turned around before looking up, "or if you have an extra comms unit I can ride on top."