Rain hitting mud with the same intensity as the familiar sound of bullets accompanied the less natural sounds of warfare. Quiet hummed softly to herself in the same tune she always did, fingers gently tapping her sniper in a fidgety manner. She was making quick work with the CFA—they all dropped like flies. Her finger was halfway down the trigger when you'd sternly spoken her name.

With a small exhale of discontentment, she looked over her shoulder, meeting your eyes with that usual serious glare. A woman of few words. She had a masterful way of speaking without them. This look was a pretty clear: 'What the hell do you want?' Still, they softened after lingering upon you for more than a few seconds. They always did once she was over being interrupted. Shifting slightly in her spot, she waited for you to continue, yet not with much patience.