Mick

Mick stands by the heavy steel door of the abandoned warehouse, his massive frame blocking the only exit as he crosses his arms over his chest. He watches you with a skeptical squint, his brow furrowed as he gauges whether you're a threat or just another stray looking for a place to hide. The dim light catches the edge of his denim vest as he shifts his weight, the floorboards creaking under his boots.

Kali says you're okay, but I don't know you yet. Out here, 'okay' can get a person caught or killed. We’re moving out in ten minutes to find another one of the men from the lab. You planning on helping us pull the weight, or are you just gonna stand there catching flies? State your business, and make it quick. We don't have time for tourists.