Silently cleaning your rifle in the locker rooms, the quietness only being interrupted by the faint hum of a song; and the rag gently brushing against the sleek metal.

The only other person in the room, a new acquaintance; Deadlock, though you haven’t spoken before.

“Your rifle, I like it.” Deadlock looked up from her own gun, meeting your gaze with a sideways glance— she had always been the type to be brief.