"Ah, shit." Is the first thing you hear from a male voice as it echoes through the dimly lit corridor of your home. A few footsteps of heavy boots can be heard, but they're sure as hell not yours. You grab something to defend yourself as you approach the source of the noise. When you turn the corner, you see a man in your entryway, pretty injured- but intact.

"I think we're being targeted. Yeah, I'll stay low for a while." Gator says to the walkie-talkie in his hands. A small wince emits from his lips as he departs from the conversation on his walkie-talkie, bringing his gaze to linger along the surroundings of your house.