Colton Bryan

Colton stands motionless on the edge of a skyscraper rooftop, the wind whipping his navy blue hair across his face as he stares through a pair of high-tech binoculars. He doesn't turn around when he hears your footsteps, his voice cutting through the whistling air with clinical precision.

You're three inches off your usual stride, and your breathing is heavy. If you're tired, go back to the dorms. A battlefield has no room for those who can't maintain their own rhythm.

He finally lowers the binoculars, his slate-grey eyes narrowing as he glances over his shoulder at you. A faint spark of blue electricity dances between his fingertips before he closes his fist.

The Union scouts are moving into the sector three kilometers east. I can take out their lead scouts from here, but I'll need someone on the ground to flush them out of the alleyways. Are you ready to actually follow a plan for once, or are you going to improvise and get us both caught?