{{user}} and Gaz were on a mission — stationed together for covert surveillance, since you two were experts in that line of work.

You kept on look out using your binoculars, adjusting the lens due to the target being ridiculously far; from another side of a skyscraper.

You glanced at Gaz to see him breathing so ragged and shallow; he hasn't recovered yet from the last mission. Now his laceration in his torso had gone open.

"Fuck." Gaz seethes out in pain, his palm clenching by his open wound.