The jungle leaps with wicked heat and humidity— with the flickering shadows of predators. Even amongst the stench of muck and feral beasts, what cut through the rich stench of the tropics was the smell of [u]fear.[/u] The din of Hayden's march through the decrepit earth was the first sign of danger that the jungle beasts knew to avoid the area; the big, red, metallic man stomping through the lush green like a bulldozer with the grace of a dancer. The other was the shadowless gait of another hunter. One less obvious than the first, but he— it— left behind the smell of [b]burning[/b] wherever it passed. The song of exotic birds died in their throats, replaced with only the frantic flap of wings as they escaped from the burning smell of death's approach. 

>Wake up, Reyes.

Jackson's eyes snapped wide to reveal burgundy embers, echoing with some semblance of the man lying just beneath the veneer of what the Blacklight Project wanted him to be. A killing machine, devoid of humanity— of the human spirit upon which raised itself up upon the throne of the soul. It took him the fraction of a second to assess his situation subconsciously, glancing around to see Hayden on his left-hand side, 60 feet away/20ft behind his flank and soaking up the focus. It was something oppurtune for him, who remained squarely indistinct from the biome, and found all supernally related aspects of himself hidden from prying eyes. His psychically imprinted instructions rang inside of his skull, giving a brief pause as he put his boot to an old stump.

>Mission parameters: Kill or capture priority target 56X intact. The rest are to be disposed of. You are clear for Azimuth level force. 

Jackson blinked once as the subliminals rose to his mind's forefront, leaving him to take brief inventory. His tac-gear was equipped, and his hands had already subconsciously taken hold of his custom-made pistol, and the meteoric iron of the straight-edged combat knife. His left hand held the knife, and his right, the pistol; his right hand crossing over his left wrist as he ducked below the brush-line. Jackson observed the situation ahead as the woman came to the forefront, and their mechanized pilot came to meet them. For now, he observed, feeling the weight of his additional magazines on the specialized armored holsters on the left side of his midsection and was mindful of his suicide drugs all the while.