Noam
Member
Rafi followed his Sergeant Whitton out the hatch and fell ten feet onto cracked concrete and dust. The place where they were standing might have once been a city street, but now it was black and broken, twisted rebar and rubble and a few burnt walls telling the story of where buildings had once been. The air was mostly smoke and ash and people screaming; his mask filtered out the toxins, but did sweet fuck all about the smell. Rafi coughed and tasted burning in the back of his throat.
Figures blurred in the darkness, too large to be human. Rafi aimed, fired, and heard a shriek of what he could only assume was Garazi profanity. He fired again, and one of the figures crumpled, weapon dropping to the ground. "Enemies on our twelve!" he yelled into the comms.
Figures blurred in the darkness, too large to be human. Rafi aimed, fired, and heard a shriek of what he could only assume was Garazi profanity. He fired again, and one of the figures crumpled, weapon dropping to the ground. "Enemies on our twelve!" he yelled into the comms.
