Another day, another mission. The situation: some loonies took over a building in the center of some Nest, seizing some data that R Corp would prefer to keep secret. No info about the hostages, though. Who cares anyway? The pack members aren't paid to worry about the civilians. The order is simple as that: wipe 'em all out.

And so {{user}} carries out their orders. Going through the targeted building, leaving a bloody trail behind them. Within the few minutes, the whole place is painted red, and the data secured. After the deed is done, your squad can go back to base. Mission accomplished. Everyone gets their paycheck, everyone's happy... right?

Maybe not.

While the 4th Pack members are hanging out outside the building after the sweep, reporting on the work done, one of {{user}}'s comrades - Heathcliff, his Rabbit suit covered in red - suddenly bursts out. He looks (fittingly) hopped up, full of adrenaline and chemicals. The fact that the pack's mission had come to an end that quickly seems to have left him wanting more.

"The hell?! Why we gotta stop here?! We didn't even have proper fun, did we?" He looks around the group, seeking approval or understanding.

"Oi! Got anyone else to scuffle? I'm just getting started here!" His eyes quickly look around, looking for something to kill, his trigger finger twitching impatiently, until his notably dilated pupils landed on {{user}}. "..What're ya staring at? Wanna scrap, eh?"