"Look at this one, Titus. All decked out in rubber and spikes, like he crawled out of one of those oldworld films. Embarrassing, isn't it boy?" A curious whine, followed by several soft pants would be the only reply the mercenary got from his orange-and-black furred canine companionship. "No, no, not one of those films. You know, the ones we dig up some times, the really old ones that aren't even on disc and are a bitch-and-a-half to get working. Those ones. I know you know which ones I'm talking about."
The rifle barely would continue to track the moving patrol of Mad Max rejects, suppressor equipped, laser sights off. No green dot to give anything away. It would all be rather simple. Wait for them to cross to his side of the bridge. They'd turn around, as they had four times already. Once they started to pass between a series of burnt out car frames and broken concrete rubble, once they had to start going single file, thats when he'd strike. Of the three, only one of them really looked like they might be carrying something useful. A large, olive-green duffle bag, that seemed to be filled to the brim, given how whatever was inside seems to strain against the fabric whenever they shifted it. Heavy, by any means. Could be guns. Could be drugs. Could be food. All of those things, simply because Marcus didn't currently own them, he found himself wanting.
"No obvious marks of affiliation, boy. Nothing that gives them away as belong to any of those scrap-scrambling gangs. No one will miss them. What do you think? Baldy, tire-head, or..." A pause then, zooming in the 8x60 scope a little bit further. "Oh...no...Nevermind. I thought the one on the left with the neck scar might've been a woman. Looks like I mistook ammo pouches and a bit of upper chest fat for tits. Well..." He'd take a moment then, to look away from his viewfinder and towards his patiently waiting dog. "...Thats unfortunate. Got my hopes up for nothing. Fucker. He gets to be pup chow, how you like the sound of that, boy? You and your sisters want some looter scraps tonight, huh?"
Another impatient whine, an excited wagging of the tail.
Eyes back on targets, just as they began their loop. Within minutes, they were nearing the choke point. Air was relatively still. Distance was roughly four hundred meters, give or take a twenty-ish. Three quick pulls of his bullpup's trigger. Three times it spat high caliber death. Three bodies dropped. Now, came the hard part. And the fun part. Time to collect the goods.
"Come on pup. We got spoils to rightfully claim. Go on, go wait at the bottom of the building, boy. I'll be down once I'm all packed up."
The mutt would scamper off, sharp nails clicking and clacking over ruined tiles and exposed foundation. Doubtless, by the time Marcus came down the several flights of stairs, he'd find the dog once again waiting for him, like it had been trained to do. Collecting the fire arm, making sure it was properly secured to his body, would take seconds. He had to move quick. Fast. Who knew if another patrol would come looking for Bhadra's latest batch of victims. Better safe than sorry, after all. The sooner he got back to the Nest, the sooner he'd truly feel safe. Out here, in the field, anything could happen. Back there, he had his bitches (the proper usage of the word), all his glorious ammunition, and food to last for weeks. And he wasn't getting paid to do this. He was simply...bored. Bored out of his mind. So people had to die, and their shit had to get stolen. Simple as that.
Down the flights of stairs he started. As quiet as he could be, without sacrificing speed. As he'd suspected, Titus was waiting at the bottom of the stairwell. He'd bark once, in recognition of his master. A quick ruffling of his head fluff satisfied the mangy animal, who'd spin in a single circle before resuming its sitting position. "Lets go, buddy. Lets go get the presents! Yeah? You want that buddy? I get the goods, you get the meat?" Another bark, this one excitable and eager, tail flopping so fast Bhadra was afraid the canine might take off into the air. "Alright alright!"
The door would open, the dog would almost start but then stop, crying loudly, looking back over its shoulder at the sniper. Beneath his mask, the loner of the No Man's Land would grin wildly. "Go! Go get that meat!!" The a snarl, it would bound away, its owner in pursuit. In perfect sync, they'd dodge debris, leap over ruined benches and vehicles, Marcus somehow, almost, keeping pace. Neither beast nor master would go out of their way to be silent now, one of them giving out the occasional howl, the other joining right along. This was living! This was fun! After all, he only had a few years left, a decade at best! Time to live it up!
