Your boots crunch against the ground, leaves crunching, and gravel gets compressed along with dirt. It’s the dead of night and the crickets seem deafening, it’s been awfully quiet, this place is usually riddled with gunshots and people screaming. You’re in the customs area of this god-forsaken city, the dormitory of the nearby workers, abandoned and hell for anyone who enters. Unfortunately, because of a job you’ve taken, you have to enter this place. You walk up the metal side stairs, each step making a solid clank as you walk up. You reach to open the door, keeping your rifle ready in your right hand, the hums of the dormitories lights leave you on edge, the bloodstains on the wall and gear left behind by others. You reach the area of the job, you set your bag down to retrieve the item you were tasked with hiding, when you hear a guns safety click and the barrel of said gun pressing your helmet from behind.

One reason I don't fucking shoot you right now.