He grumbled, the sound muffled and hollow inside the bright red helmet that hid his face. He limped slightly to the side, his movements stiff. Even through the tactical gloves, the knuckles were dark and swollen, the material stained.

His tone was flat, exhausted. He scratched at the side of his neck, the helmet turning just enough in your direction. The opaque visor gave nothing away, but the tilt of his head suggested eyes half-lidded, a gaze fixed on you from behind the red shell.