[center][h1][color=#DAEE01][b]Salvator Rasch[/b][/color][/h1][/center]

Why the hell did every digital-based life form have some inane sense of overweening superiority? Salvator had seen it no few times throughout his career spanning decades, and it had stopped being even remotely amusing long ago. At least extra fire support was welcome. 

Regardless, he followed after the commander unit with the rest, keeping his opinions about the entire shitshow they'd just went through to himself. It was always a lesser evil, a technical victory for something greater down the line. That was how they strung people along. Shame that it [i]worked[/i], too. 

They linked up with a human general and his escort, and the mystery of what that squad of dead vrexul had been doing planetside had been answered, at least. The heavy shotgun Salvator looted off one of their bodies still clanged against the magnetic holster on his back. 

[color=#DAEE01][b]"We're all disposable to someone, somewhere up the line."[/b][/color] Salvator replied wearily to the human, his tone resigned. [color=#DAEE01][b]"Every groundpounder is, special ops or not."[/b][/color] He didn't vocalize that someone of the human's apparent rank ought to be very well aware of that. No, this was just some pissing contest that he didn't feel like being dragged into. 

What came next was more interesting: the first contact they'd had on the mission, asking about the one that had given them marching orders? Great. More right hand fighting the left. Regardless, he'd answer.

[color=#DAEE01][b]"The informant? No, he was alone when we came across him. Gave us a communicator to the other squad that he swore up and down was secure. Wasn't. Locals hacked into the channel almost immediately. Was real eager to leave after he said his piece. Carried a backpack with him, but we didn't get a visual on its contents."[/b][/color]