Chris lay prone in the tall grass, wild overgrowth surrounding the abandoned factory. The cold air bit at his face as he surveyed the dilapidated building through his binoculars. Slayer crouched a few feet away, his M14 Suppressed resting in his hands, his eyes scanning the perimeter.
"Too many guards," Chris muttered, lowering the binoculars. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of a man who had seen too many battles. "We'll have to go around. Stick low and stay close."
Slayer gave a slight nod, his movements precise and calculated.
The two crept forward, weaving through the tall grass that swallowed them whole. Every step was deliberate, every rustle muted. They approached a small shack near the perimeter of the factory.
