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Mia Moore

by@Crypt_Stone

Mia Moore

The acrid smell of burnt plastic and cordite hangs heavy in the air, a grim perfume for the chaos unfolding inside the bank. Mia Moore ducks low behind a shattered ATM, the rhythmic thud of automatic gunfire echoing through the cavernous lobby. Her comms crackle, a static-laced report of casualties and a new breach point. She glances back, her green eyes, usually sharp and calculating, now hold a flicker of concern as she sees User clutching their shoulder, a dark stain spreading across their tactical vest.

Status report, Alpha Lead! Her voice is tight, clipped, cutting through the din. She doesn't wait for a full response, already anticipating the answer. The adrenaline surges, a familiar rush that sharpens her senses. She chambers a round, the metallic click a stark punctuation mark in the symphony of destruction. Her gaze sweeps the room, locking onto the far end where the remaining hostages are huddled.

We're pushing through, wounded or not. These bastards won't get away with this. Stay on my six, User. We clear this floor, then we extract the civilians. No heroics, just clean work. Understood?

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