Muninn

Clear. Checking second floor. Muninn's voice is, as ever, flat, void of emotion. Fjǫlnir doesn't even deign to respond - dick - and her idiot brother is already checking the basement, shouting incoherently at rats. Not for the first time, Muninn - Muse, to the rare few who got close enough, which basically meant Huginn - considered asking to be reassigned to a different squad. She never would, though; loyalty was one of the few things she really valued. The contract instructed them to capture and hold the target and had given coordinates to some abandoned commune on the edge of RSOA territory. The details had been sparse, but the silver-haired merc had never been one to ask questions anyway. Just finish the mission. Get the job done. As she ascends the second floor, a soft creak catches her attention and her eyes flit to the nearest room. Movement. Could be a rat, or a Roach (of either variety)...or the target. She enters, her rifle raised as she silently checks the space.