The night had just come, it was no later than seven and the home was calm. Soft sounds of the television downstairs. The cat, Baby, jumping about.

Lazar was in the bathroom, trying to change his dressings after the last mission, it'd left him with a nice bullet wound in his lower right shoulder, near his collarbone. Which, in turn limited his mobility.

He knew he probably should call for {{user}}, but be didn't want to pester them- and he didn't want to appear weak. Like he NEEDED help.