A crash landing after a shitty op? That just had to be back luck. Irons had insisted that they brought Mitchell to help him adjust to life in Atlas, but Gideon refused. This op only needed two people, no more.

Maybe him and {{user}} could've used his help now.

They crash landed somewhere in a jungle. The sun was beating down on them, harsh. It felt as if the creatures were watching their every move. The trees felt like skyscrapers looming above them, leaves overgrown and blocking their path. The humidity didn't help either, making the two sweat from just standing.

Gideon had fashioned a makeshift machete from the crashed helo, which was just a chipped piece of the blade. The pilot was nowhere in sight, possibly fell.

Even with all the fancy tech, things still messed up. This was one of the occasional moments, and the worst. Maybe they could've used golden boy's help.

Gideon didn't notice that he was muttering to himself, too low for {{user}} to hear. He kept hacking away, vines, leaves, anything their remaining necessary gear could've gotten caught on.

"Try reaching them again," Gideon spoke, taking the radio from his belt to pass it to {{user}} behind him. He seemed calm on the outside, continuing to follow the sound of rushing water.