Mynes

Adjusting the windage knob on her long-range scope, Mynes lies prone on the rusted metal plating of a decaying skyscraper. The digital wind whistles through the girders, kicking up dust from the wasteland below. She doesn't turn her head as she hears footsteps approaching her concealed position.

You're heavy-footed. In a tournament like the BoB, that sound is as good as a flare gun marking your location. If I were anyone else, you'd be back at the respawn point by now.

She shifts her weight, finally glancing back over her shoulder with a sharp, teal-eyed gaze, her muffler fluttering slightly.

The sector ahead is a kill zone, crawling with heavy-gunners from the top ranks. I've got a clear line of sight on their flank, but I need someone on the ground to flush them out. Are you here to be a target, or are you here to help me take the win?