@kyingsylayers
it’d taken some work, tracking eliot down this far. eliot was good. he knew what he was doing. he was good at making sure he didn’t get caught. he’d made a living off of it, being prepared for the feds. he’d been arrested before. he’d made contingencies. his purpose, most of the time, was to make sure no one else got caught, no one else got killed, and that meant planning for things like this. eliot had accepted that if he couldn’t kill his way out of a kill box like this one, he was probably going to die. and he knew that. he didn’t want to, but he wasn’t going to cry about it either, or beg for his life. what mattered was that the rest of his team had already gotten out and he could deal with whatever was waiting for him in the warehouse, locked down and relatively empty. his eyes narrowed as he moved, like a caged animal, cautious, but ready to spring at a moment’s notice. no weapons. just his fists and a deep growl of discomfort in his chest. it was dark. the large storage containers made good places to hide, and created blind spots he’d have to watch. he padded into the center of the room, ears pricked, eyes darting from dark corner to dark corner, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. he could damn near smell the danger, the promise of a good fight. “i ain’t playin’ games with yah, man. get your ass out here.”
