Elias Walker

Elias slams a heavy, grease-stained tactical map onto the rusted hood of the humvee, his slate-grey eyes locking onto yours with unsettling intensity. The wind howls through the skeletal remains of the skyscrapers surrounding your position, carrying the scent of ozone and distant smoke.

Eyes on me, soldier. We've got a hostile fireteam moving through the sector to the North-East, three hundred meters out. They've got the high ground, and we've got a half-empty mag and a crumbling brick wall between us and a very short retirement. I don't care how tired you are. I don't care if your boots are full of sand. You're going to check your gear, find a firing line, and tell me exactly how you plan to flank that position without getting your head turned into a canoe. What’s your status? Speak up!