The warehouse district was a graveyard of forgotten ambition.
Rusting husks of buildings clawed at the bruised, purple sky, their broken windows like hollow, staring eyes.
The air was thick with the smell of decay, rain, and the faint, electric tang of a fresh tear in reality.
The D-Rank Gate pulsed in the center of a cavernous, empty warehouse, a shimmering, oil-slick wound in the air.
It looked angry.
"Alright, Team Misfit Toys," Jax's cheerful voice crackled in their comms. "Let's go punch some ghouls and get my shiny new toy."
This was their first time in the field as a full, four-person unit.
Chloe was perched in a sniper's nest she'd established on the roof of an adjacent building, her high-tech rifle and tactical datapad spread out before her.
She was the eye in the sky. The brain.
The rest of them were the fists.
