[center][h3][b][color=8493ca]Milo 'No-Name'[/color][/b][/h3]
[indent][color=gray]Kettler Mine - Arsenal[/color][/indent][/center]

Besides a headnod offered at the swap of items, a lack of response was what came from Milo as he paid attention to the words now coming from Josiah and the crowd. It turned into another ‘passionate’, heated, debate where both sides had merit. It wasn’t Milo’s place to speak up, but there were clear advantages to remaining hidden from a force as big as the Republic. His eyes scanned throughout the crowd, noting mostly refugees and hard-workers. This was a community, not a militia or band of raiders. If he would have stuck it out with his old group, they would have considered this mine like taking candy from babies. A low chuckle erupted from the deformed man as he kept his sarcastic comments to himself, getting himself a good look at the green-skinned broad that was debating. Everyone had the answers, but who was actually willing to go out and do it themselves? That’s what Milo wondered.

If not for the current situation, Milo’s instincts would have made him reach for his weapon when the shot began ringing out. Back in his camp, the shot meant the green-skinned woman and the rest of the disgruntled mutants would have been laid across the floor. Here, more for show but got the job done the same. Josiah had made a threat - or rather a promise - to discipline those who stepped out of line. Milo found it fair, but how long would it really keep them in line? It wasn’t his concern to continue thinking about it. Milo heard the word he needed to hear; expedition, which sent him on his way to the arsenal.

Milo was the first to arrive, and generally was each go-around in order to continue securing his good living situation. The arsenal consisted of a shooting range and proving ground, as well as an area to store weapons. Milo rarely used the weapon storage as he preferred to keep his weapons on his person at all times, including sleeping. The proving ground he wished to use more, but it was rare to find a sparring partner that had similar endurance. The shooting range was where he could be found, usually taking a few pot shots to get his aim steady. This time around he would hold off, as something told him times were going to get harder. He could smell it in the air and as such, was going to conserve as much equipment as possible.

Milo made sure his medkit was fully stocked and took his gun apart to clean it. At least, as far as he could get without having to mess with the laser functioning. Next, he would take two 40-round magazines and flip one upside. He would couple them together with tape to create a flip mag. Milo would then begin practicing a quicker reload, dislodging the clip and then flipping it to the other mag, inserting it with an extra hit at the end. He would consistently perform this action until he got into the habit of it. Expeditions were always dangerous, and those blue-and-red fuckers lurking around the corner made it none the easier now. Milo raised his assault-rifle with one arm, admiring the new attachment and cleanliness. He understood a gun was just like a woman, you needed to oil ‘er up and get her pretty before the finger-fuckin’ commenced. That’s what her previous owner failed to understand, and why she treats Milo nicely at every turn. Now, he was ready for his mission.