*Northwestern Irkallan Rail Line—Freight Route to Calavera from imperial territory
"Haaa~ how much longer do we have to wait? Cargo trains are so dreary. I swear, I might just die of boredom"
Leon's voice—exaggerated, drawn-out, and far too whiny for a grown man—slammed into my ears like a hammer, the way he stretched his words, like a child desperate for attention, only made it worse.
"Then perish. Not like we'd be losing much if you decided to waltz into enemy fire with your arms spread wide"
I shot back without missing a beat, my gaze still fixed on the scenery rushing past the open cargo door.
"Ouch, harsh, Fi…when did you become so cruel? I thought we raised you better"
Leon fake cried dramatically, rubbing at invisible tears.
"This and that are two different matters"
I said dryly, quipping back.
"So cold. So heartless. And to think, I spent all these years keeping you alive. What a tragic betrayal. I'll never emotionally recover from this"
Leon let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head like a disappointed parent.
"More like the boss did, I only remember you ditching me the moment an interesting fight showed up"
I muttered, glancing at him with a deadpan expression.
The memory of my first real battle was still fresh—him conveniently disappearing the second things got serious.
"Come on, it builds character, and besides, I taught you everything you needed to know to survive on your own"
He waved a hand lazily before leaning back against a crate, completely unbothered, a sh*t eating grin plastered on his face.
"Besides, admit it—your life would be a lot less fun without me"
His grin widened, eyes glinting with mischief.
"Less irritating, more like"
I rolled my eyes, though a smirk did cross my lips.
"How ungrateful…sniffle sniffle"
He faked a sob.
"That doesn't work if you say "sniffle" out loud, idiot"
I said annoyed, but despite my words, I didn't really mean it. He knew that. And despite all his exaggerated complaints, I knew he wouldn't have it any other way.
We locked eyes in silence for a while.
"..."
"..."
For a moment, neither of us spoke. Just stared.
Then—
"Pfft—"
"Hahahahaha…this is dumb"
"Agreed…"
Laughter broke out at the same time, effortless and unspoken in its timing, the kind only shared between people who had been through far too much together.
After our laughter faded, we wordlessly returned to our posts, though the conversation carried on—anything to make this dreary train ride a little less unbearable.
"Now that you mention it, why DID we take this job? I thought the boss hated the cartel. Hard to believe he'd actually agree to a contract guarding one of their trains"
I asked, frowning slightly as I mulled over the oddity of our situation, given the boss's personality, this didn't add up.
"Eh, I don't remember ever being an expert on the boss's thought process..."
Leon shrugged, arms folded behind his head.
"But if I had to guess, he's probably itching to go toe-to-toe with the big players again"
Despite his casual tone, I could tell he was actually thinking about it seriously.
"Even if it means throwing our lot in with those narcos?"
Skepticism laced my voice, the old man was a battle-hungry thrill-seeker, sure—but I knew him well enough to doubt he'd compromise his principles just for the sake of a good fight.
"Relax, Fiama, you know the boss isn't like that. This is just a temporary arrangement. And besides, let's be real—we need the cash, no matter who it's coming from"
Leon reasoned, his voice steady, unwavering in his faith.
"And before you start thinking we're running products for them, I already checked the cargo. No dope, no weapons, no chained and beaten children—just runestones, monster cores, and a bunch of other random junk. Not exactly noble, but it could be worse"
His certainty was reassuring, but it didn't completely ease the discomfort churning in my gut.
"I know. I'm not doubting the boss, it's just..."
I trailed off, unable to shake the unease.
"Gives you a bad feeling, huh?"
Leon let out a dry chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Yeah, me too. I mean, let's be honest—who actually likes eating out of the cartel's hand? Hell, even the Crusading Corsairs can't stand those powder-barons, and they're practically attached at the hip"
He wasn't wrong. The cartel was a necessary evil in Irkalla, but that didn't mean we had to like working for them.
"But don't stress your little head too much, alright? Us seniors will handle it. And besides—has the boss ever led us astray before? We'll be back working for...well not exactly pleasant people but certainly more tolerable people before you know it"
Leon grinned, ruffling my hair in a familiar, almost brotherly gesture.
"Haha...Yeah. You're right"
I exhaled, turning my gaze to the window, watching the scenery blur past, being reassured by his gesture.
(I'll trust in that, like always...)
That was how I felt.
"Of course I am. I'm always right"
Leon declared, puffing out his chest with exaggerated confidence.
"Haaa~ just when I was starting to respect you again..."
I sighed, dragging out my words in mock disappointment.
"But never mind that"
I waved off his nonsense, steering the conversation to another topic, something more pleasant preferably.
"Who are the "big players" the boss is aiming for this time? I know he still has unfinished business with the Corsair's war ogre, but that's old news. Surely there's more to it if he's willing to step foot in Irkalla again"
I leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. The boss wasn't the type to make a move without good reason.
"Oh right...I guess Garren and Zofia haven't told you yet"
Leon mused, his expression shifting to something casual—yet more engaged, more interested than before.
"Heh..."
His eyes flickered with a knowing light, the kind that meant he was sitting on something interesting.
"It's mostly eyewitness reports and scattered rumors, but...supposedly—"
Leon's lips curled into a grin.
"The "White Jackal" is back in Irkalla"
And just like that, he dropped a bombshell.
"..."
I was struck silent for a moment.
"WHAAAAAAAAT?!"
The words burst out before I could stop them, my voice echoing off the metal walls of the cargo hold.
"Shhh! Be quiet! We're still on duty, remember?"
Leon hissed, eyes darting around as he waved his hands in a frantic shushing motion.
"Oh...right. Sorry, but what?"
Lowering my voice, I clamped a hand over my mouth, then leaned in, eyes wide.
"You sure it's him? Not another copycat or something?"
I had to be certain. The "White Jackal"—just hearing the name felt like a thousand pounds pressing down on my chest.
"Well, like I said, it's mostly just a few eyewitness accounts and rumors for now, so we can't be absolutely sure..."
Leon shrugged, but his tone was firm, certain.
"But considering the pattern? It's as good as confirmed. Appearing in multiple places in rapid succession, completing unknown missions for an even more unknown client, then vanishing without a trace, a preference for creepy masks and dark clothing, speaks with a voice that sounds completely dead inside...and, most importantly—"
Leon grinned, but it wasn't a happy grin. It was the grin of someone dropping a cursed truth.
"That signature, sickly white hair accompanied by a pair of blank, crimson eyes? No doubt about it. The reports are too consistent for it to be anyone else"
"Hmm..."
I chewed on that, arms crossed. I'd heard the stories, everyone had. There were plenty of stories about that name.
The White Jackal....
That title alone was enough to send terror, awe, and respect through the veins of every Jaeger in northern Valentia.
(A solo operator with no allegiances, unaffiliated with any known Jaeger corp. An unpredictable force with no loyalties—no flag, no ideals, no discernible pattern to his work. He appears from nothing and vanishes like a breeze into the wind the moment his task is complete. He moves across the land like an unseen calamity, a silent disaster poised to subsume its next target—whoever, or whatever, it may be. And anyone who's ever come close to uncovering the truth behind him? They all went mad, raving that he was hunting them—before vanishing without a trace...)
The stories sounded more like ghost tales than anything else—legends passed between Jaegers who lived and died by the blade, trading blood for coin.
"To be honest, I still don't quite buy the stories. I mean, can a person like that really exist?"
I spoke with careful skepticism, my mind weighing the tales against logic.
Exaggeration was a given in our line of work—legends were often inflated, warped by whispers and retellings. And while I trusted Leon and the others not to outright lie, that didn't mean the stories hadn't grown beyond reality.
"Oh, he's very real, Fi..."
Leon's tone shifted—serious now, a rare departure from his usual easygoing self.
"As a matter of fact, me, the boss, Zofia and Garren has had the pleasure of running into him once already"
"Yeah, I've heard. You fought during the second War of Vindication, right? I wasn't a front liner for the corp back then but I remember the boss boasting about the scars he received"
I leaned back slightly, arms crossed, trying to ground the myth with known history.
"It's not that I don't trust you, but still...a single person capable of traveling all across Irkalla at that kind of speed? Covering that much ground so quickly, with no clear pattern or trace? It just doesn't seem humanly possible"
I frowned, voicing the logical flaw that had been bothering me from the start.
"I mean...are we even sure it's just one person? What if the "White Jackal" is actually a group of some kind? A network of skilled individuals all using the same name maybe?"
It was the simplest, most plausible explanation. A myth could be made real with enough people willing to uphold it.
"Eh, possible. It would explain the rumors of him showing up in multiple places at once... but personally, I don't think that's the case..."
Leon rubbed his chin, his expression unusually thoughtful.
"As someone who's actually encountered The White Jackal before, there's just something about him that's...different. Unique in a way I can't quite put into words. I don't think there's anyone else like him—not with that kind of presence"
He said describing the Jackal as someone who could not be replicated.
"Heh...you in love, Leon?"
I raised a brow, a mischievous smirk creeping onto my lips.
It was rare to hear him give this much respect to an opponent. Teasing him was too easy.
"Ha! As if!"
Leon scoffed, immediately snapping out of his serious mood.
"First off all, I don't swing that way. And second, I don't chase skirts—skirts chase me and my hot piece of a—"
He paused mid-sentence, suddenly catching himself...
"—bod! I meant hot bod!"
...Before he hard corrected his sentence.
"Uh huh, sure"
I rolled my eyes, I was sure he was about to say "*ss" before deciding to censor his language for me.
"Haha…"
Leon chuckled nervously.
"That aside, the most recent sighting of him was at the Viridian Masquerade—5 days ago"
Leon said, his tone shifting back to something more serious.
"??"
I blinked.
"That den of noxious peacocks? Seriously?!"
A shudder ran through me at the thought.
"Doesn't exactly seem like his kind of scene"
The Viridian Masquerade—a lavish cesspool of indulgence and excess, where the rich and powerful draped themselves in silks and lies, hiding their rotten cores behind ornate masks. I'd heard enough about what went on at those events to know I wanted no part of it...
(The boss would never let me go anywhere near a place like that...)
...though, to be fair, I didn't know for sure. The old man had a habit of being overprotective—sometimes to the point of paranoia.
"According to some Jaegers who were hired as bodyguards for the event, he was pursuing a target of some kind"
Leon said, crossing his arms.
"But the details are scarce—no one seems to know who or why, unusual for such a crowded event don't you think?"
It was certainly scary how much influence the mere name "White Jackal" had.
"Huh…"
I exhaled, mulling it over.
"Well, I guess we better watch our backs"
I was still skeptical—stories like these had a way of growing legs and running wild. But even so, it wouldn't hurt to be cautious. If the "White Jackal" really was in Irkalla, we'd be better off not crossing his path.
If only I knew how royally I jinxed us right then...
"For sure…anyway, enough yap. Let's get back to work—unless you wanna go hungry again for the next few weeks"
Leon said, already turning away as he resumed patrolling the cargo holds with practiced ease.
"Yeah, yeah…"
I sighed, following suit but in the other direction.
For a while, everything was quiet—just the rhythmic clatter of steel wheels against the tracks, the faint hum of machinery, and the occasional murmur from the other guards. It was almost peaceful. But, of course, that peace couldn't last…
*BOOM!*
A deafening explosion rocked the train, sending vibrations through the steel frame. The force of it jolted me off balance as the entire car lurched violently.
"Woah!"
I stumbled, barely managing to steady my body, preventing myself from having an unfortunate encounter with the floor.
"Enemy attack?"
Instinct took over as I immediately ducked down, keeping my body low while moving toward a better vantage point. I needed to assess the situation before acting—charging in blind would be a good way to end up dead.
"The sound came from behind..."
Keeping my movements cautious, I inched toward the window. Carefully, I took a peek outside, angling myself just enough to get a view of the cars behind us without exposing too much of my head. The last thing I wanted was to get it blown off by a spell or some sniper lying in wait.
"What the—"
I blinked, barely believing what I was seeing.
Outside, kicking up clouds of dust against the golden dusk of Irkalla's wastelands, a horde of ragged, bloodthirsty figures rode alongside the train. They came on a chaotic mix of steeds—some atop snarling, muscular warhorses clad in scavenged barding, others perched on the backs of reptilian beasts with thick, scarred hides and piercing yellow eyes. A few rickety, armor-plated carriages rumbled over the uneven terrain, drawn by whatever poor creatures they had enslaved for the task. Some of the riders stood atop the metal beasts—makeshift bikes powered by sputtering engines that belched black smoke into the sky.
"Gyahahahahaha! You're so dead now, profligates!"
A shrill, maniacal voice rang out, carrying over the howling wind.
I could see them now—filthy, half-naked men and women brandishing weapons rusted with age and blood. Some were shirtless, their bodies covered in jagged, crude tattoos that looked more like scars than ink. Their skin was tanned and tough from years of exposure to the brutal sun, their grins wide with rotten teeth. Others were clad in cobbled-together armor—rusty plates strapped to leather, scavenged metal hammered into crude pauldrons, and helmets that looked like they'd been pried off corpses long past their prime.
Their weapons were just as mismatched—rusty blades, jagged axes, crude spears, and crossbows that looked like they'd jam if you so much as breathed on them wrong. And yet, in their hands, those weapons were deadly. They had no discipline, no formation, no careful coordination—but they didn't need it. Sheer numbers, brute force, and unhinged brutality made them just as dangerous as any trained fighter.
"Marauders..."
I wrinkled my nose in disgust, lips curling as I muttered under my breath.
The lowest of the low. The kind of people who thrived in the lawless hellscape of Irkalla, preying on whoever was unlucky enough to cross their path. They weren't soldiers. They weren't mercenaries. They were rabid animals, tearing apart anything weaker than them, reveling in chaos for chaos' sake.
One of them, a massive brute with a shaved head and a body covered in ritual scars, stood atop a lizard-like beast the size of a carriage. He lifted a rusted cleaver high into the air, his muscles bulging as he let out a guttural roar.
"Get 'em, boys! Strip the train clean! Kill the guards, take everything else!"
With a chorus of howls and war cries, the marauders surged forward, weapons raised, eager for blood.
At that moment…
*BOOM!*
An explosion erupted, engulfing one of the marauders' carriages in a fiery blast. Metal shrapnel and chunks of scorched wood scattered through the air as a plume of black smoke curled skyward. The screams of dying raiders barely had time to register before they were swallowed by the crackling roar of the flames.
And then—laughter. Familiar, loud, and utterly unbothered.
"Look, boys! Our mid-transit entertainment is here! HAHAHA! Time to make some money!"
The voice boomed from atop one of the train cars, full of confidence, arrogance, and that ever-present edge of amusement. Standing tall against the backdrop of fire and chaos was a man clad in a gray leather uniform—the unmistakable color of our corps. Over it, he wore a long, weathered black leather overcoat, its hem whipping in the wind. Beneath that, a pale red shirt, brown pants, and well-worn black leather boots and gloves completed his attire. Across his chest, a web of purple straps and harnesses secured an assortment of ammunition and explosives, each one meticulously placed for easy access.
"Yeah!"
A chorus of voices rang out in response, familiar and fierce. I knew each and every one of them without even looking—our crew, our people.
In his hands, the man wielded a massive glaive, its steel wickedly sharp and split in the middle to house a core of shimmering crystal—the same type that had just fired the blast that obliterated one of the marauders' vehicles. A weapon both brutal and elegant, capable of delivering devastating ranged strikes before seamlessly shifting into lethal close-quarters combat. Multiple handles adorned its length, allowing for a variety of grips and stances, making it as adaptable as it was deadly.
"Boss..."
I couldn't stop the grin from spreading across my face, even at his age, he was still a show-off.
(Well…you heard him, let's go make some money)
My grin widened, anticipation settling into my bones like an old friend.
"Phew~ okay, game face…game face"
To hype myself up for the fight ahead, I took a moment to glance at a reflective surface, steadying my expression. What stared back at me was a young woman with roughly trimmed, short purple hair and amber eyes. A gray coat hung loosely over my shoulders, unbuttoned, revealing the green crop top beneath. My brown shorts were worn and practical, built for movement rather than fashion. Around my neck, a black scarf rested lightly against my skin, a green cross emblazoned on the fabric.
With a deep breath, I set my jaw. No more distractions. It was time to get to work.
"Moving to intercept targets"
I announced, my voice steady as I reached for my weapons.
With a practiced motion, I unclasped them from the belt at my hips. The first—a custom-Fanoshian-made revolver, its frame reinforced with dark steel, the barrel etched with subtle engravings that caught the dim light. A well-worn grip molded perfectly to my hand, the weight familiar, reassuring. The second—a wickedly curved dagger, its blade glinting with a razor's edge. More than just a weapon, it was shaped like a bayonet, built for both slashing and stabbing, just as effective in a brawl as it was in a silent kill.
Together, they were my tools of survival. My means of making a living, and now they were going to asist me in obtaining a very bloody payday.
I moved silently through the train cars, my steps precise, measured. The rhythmic clatter of the wheels against the tracks masked my movement, but I stayed alert—any sudden shift in sound, any misstep, could mean the difference between getting the drop on the enemy or taking a bullet to the skull.
"Hup!"
As I reached the gap between the cars, I didn't hesitate. With a swift motion, I bent my knees and launched myself upward, gripping the edge of the roof. The metal was hot under my fingers, warmed by the sun, but I hauled myself up with ease, landing in a low crouch.
*Whoosh!* *whoosh!*
Wind howled past me, whipping at my clothes, but I barely noticed. My eyes were already locked ahead, scanning the battlefield that stretched across the rooftops of the train, the sounds of discharging ranged weapons, clashing steel, and the guttural cries of men in combat filled the air.
"Hey, look over there! The Jaegers got little girls fighting their battles now! HAHAHA! That's hilarious!"
A jeering voice rang out over the chaos, followed by raucous laughter.
Crude crossbows were raised in my direction, rusted mechanisms creaking as they were drawn back.
"Who cares?!—kill he—"
*Bang!*
The report of my revolver cut his words short. A large spurt of blood erupted from his now-vacant skull, his body going slack before he even realized he was dead.
*Eeee!* *CRASH!*
"AAAAA-!"
His corpse tumbled sideways, landing directly in the path of one of their makeshift carriages. The rickety vehicle, little more than scrap metal and poor quality wood bolted together and held up by sheer willpower, careened violently as the body tangled in the wheels. The whole thing flipped, throwing marauders screaming into the dust.
"Damn you! Eat this!"
Cries of rage sounded as others took aim, their crude crossbows loosing a volley in my direction.
*Thunk!* *Thunk!* *Thunk!* *Thunk!* *Thunk!* *Thunk!*
Bolts whistled through the air, slamming into the steel of the train car roof as I sprinted forward, narrowly dodging the deadly projectiles. The wind howled past me, but my focus remained razor-sharp.
*Bang!* *Bang!*
Two more shots rang out in rapid succession.
"Hu—!"
"Gah—!"
One marauder clutched his throat, blood bubbling between his fingers as he tumbled backward off his lizard-like mount, the other took a round to the gut, his body jerking violently before he slid lifelessly from the saddle.
I didn't stop moving.
The battlefield was shifting, the balance of power swaying with each body that hit the ground.
And I wasn't about to let them regain control.
"Glad you could join us, Fifi! I was saving some for you!"
A cheery, sing-song voice rang out over the chaos, followed immediately by—
*CRUNCH!*
The sickening snap of a neck, a marauder's corpse crumpled lifelessly before being unceremoniously kicked off the roof of the speeding train, his body tumbling into the dust below.
I barely had time to acknowledge the kill before its perpetrator stepped into view—a woman clad in our standard gray Jaeger uniform, though heavily personalized. A massive cleavage window cut through the center of her bodysuit, and high heels clicked sharply against the metal roof as she waved at me with an all-too-pleased grin.
She appeared unarmed at first glance, but in reality, her fists were her weapons—along with the custom battle gloves she wore, packed with deadly features, they turned every punch into a act of wanton destruction. They extended up her entire forearm and had many mechanical parts ending in two barrels on each knuckle.
"Gaaah!"
A guttural scream snapped my attention back to the fight.
A marauder charged at me, his rusted sword raised high, aiming to cleave me in half.
I didn't give him the chance.
At the last second, I dropped low—
*SLID!*
I swept beneath him, narrowly avoiding his downward slash, as I passed, my own blade flicked out—precise, effortless.
His Achilles tendons snapped.
"AARGH!"
He collapsed instantly, his legs failing him, before he could even register what had happened—
*THUD!*
A sharp kick to the chest sent him flailing off the side of the train, his scream swallowed by the wind.
"Much appreciated, big sis…though you don't have to stop on my behalf"
I didn't slow down, my revolver still smoking from my last shot.
"Oh, come on..."
*EEEE!*
In a blink, Zofia's hand snapped up, fingers clamping around a crossbow bolt mid-air—mere inches from where it would've pierced her temple.
Her grin widened.
"It's not fun without you around!"
*SLICK!*
With casual ease, she twisted the bolt in her grip and drove it backward, straight through the skull of the marauder charging at her.
"Ga—!"
His strangled gurgle barely lasted a second before he collapsed, twitching, his blood pooling in a dark stain beneath him.
Without missing a beat, Zofia gave his body a nudge with the tip of her high heel, sending him toppling off the train like discarded trash.
"You just wanna show off, don't you?"
*Bang!* *bang!*
"Ga-!"
"Kiiiiiii!"
*Crash!*
"Shi—!"
*Crash!*
Even while keeping up our casual conversation, I kept my shots steady. The first bullet punched clean through a marauder's skull, sending his lifeless body tumbling off his mount. The second hit a marauder's crossbow mid-aim, causing it to misfire. The stray bolt struck the leg of another marauder's beast, which let out a shrill scream before collapsing. The unfortunate rider had no time to react—his mount's corpse became an instant roadblock, flipping his friend's ramshackle carriage in a brutal, splintering crash.
"Of course I do! You know me so well.."
*Rumble*
Zofia grinned, her specialized battle gloves beginning to glow with raw energy.
"Also, nice shot! But watch this!"
She thrust her fists forward in a basic one-two combo.
*Bang!* *bang!*
Twin projectiles, crackling with arcane power, erupted from the barrels embedded in her knuckles. The moment they made contact—
*BOOM!**BOOM!*
One of the shots detonated instantly, sending shrapnel and gore flying as both rider and beast were erased from existence. The second had a slight delay—just enough for the marauder to realize his doom before his entire form was engulfed in a fiery blast, leaving behind only smoldering remains.
"*Whistle*"
Even I had to admit—that was impressive.
"You like it?"
Zofia turned to me with a beaming smile, holding up a victorious V-sign with her fingers. She looked like a child showing off their favorite new toy.
"The runestone shell is packed with 70% fire mana for maximum explosive power, 20% wind mana to spread the blast radius, and topping it off—10% earth mana—to pepper in some lovely shrapnel for extra fun"
She said excitingly.
"Must've cost you an arm and a leg though…"
I smirked, shaking my head as I popped open my revolver, sliding in fresh rounds with practiced ease.
*Bang!* *bang!*
The heat of the Fanoshian-made weapon thrummed through my fingers, the recoil feeling as satisfying as ever.
"Well, duh! But totally worth it, right? Those Fanoshian guys REALLY know their stuff!"
Zofia laughed, practically gushing over the craftsmanship of our suppliers, the weaponsmiths of Fanoshia were truly worthy of their reputation.
"Agreed—!"
*Thunk!**Thunk!**Thunk!**Thunk!*
Our discussion was cut short as a fresh volley of arrows rained down, forcing us to dodge.
"Enough with the chatter, you two! We're in the middle of working hours!"
A new voice cut through the chaos—stern, commanding, and laced with irritation.
*RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATA!*
A deafening barrage of gunfire suddenly roared to life accompanying the voice, drowning out everything else. The sheer volume of destruction made my teeth rattle.
I turned my head just in time to see the unmistakable figure of Garren, the muscle of our crew, unleashing hell upon the marauders below. He was a giant of a man—towering at an absurd 5 foot 14—and he hefted his rotary gun with laughable ease, as if it were no heavier than a sack of potatoes. The massive weapon spun rapidly in his grip, spewing a continuous hail of hot lead.
The effect was immediate.
Marauders swerved out of the way some crashing into each other and others got turned into a pudder by Garren's absurb firepower, their once-enthusiastic charge faltering under the sheer overwhelming firepower. Wood splintered, metal dented, and flesh tore as Garren carved a path of destruction through the battlefield.
"Kaaay~"
Zofia sing-songed in typical fashion, completely unfazed by the carnage.
"Got it, Garren"
I acknowledged, keeping my revolver at the ready.
*BANG!*
A single rifle shot cracked through the din of battle, followed swiftly by a wet, sickening *thud* as another marauder dropped lifelessly from his saddle.
"And stay down!"
Leon shouted, shifting his aim.
From his elevated position atop one of the train cars, Leon provided precision sniper fire, each shot clean and deliberate. A marauder trying to scale the side of a car barely had time to register his mistake before Leon drove the butt of his rifle into the raider's face with a brutal *CRACK*, sending him tumbling back down onto the tracks below. Another enemy attempted to sneak up from the other side, but Leon twisted his rifle, catching the man's jaw with a sharp strike before slamming his boot into his chest, sending him flying off the train.
"Persistent bastards"
He mouthed, reloading with a practiced motion before sighting another target.
By the looks of things, we weren't going to take much longer...