<span style="font-weight: bold">"You do realize legs is rather suggestive, not that I mind, just saying a female with a sniper, if she may be angry over personal names, has an advantage, but I am not one that â€¦cares for names."</span><br/><br/>"It'd be quite a woman, saw fit to pull a trigger over a nickname." He drawled, walking towards the door, hiding a very military precision behind a cowboy walk. The shotgun was leveled to the door from the hip, and as he sauntered up across the blood to the door itself. The few steps leading up to it were covered in the stuff, pooling in the crevices of the aged concrete, and the door of the house was only really closed because it had swung that way--it certainly wasn't locked, as the handle wasn't attached to the rest of the door anymore. Looked like something had already kicked it in for them.<br/><br/>"Then again," he mused aloud, "I seem to know a lot of those."<br/><br/>If his walk up to the house was cool as could be, his entrance was military--flicking on the mounted light beneath the barrel of his shotgun, he braced himself against the side of the door and applied gentle pressure. As it slid open soundlessly, he followed its arc with the gun before stepping in after it and scanning the room.<br/><br/>"Well fuck." He muttered dryly, reevaluating a bit.<br/><br/>More an abattoir than a room, really.<br/><br/>There weren't really bodies so much as there was evidence of bodies. If there had been blood outside whatever had been through here had whipped up a tornado within the confines. Less struggle and more slaughter, it seemed--from the arcs on the walls, it hadn't been with a gun either. There were spatters and spurts, but the lines that spattered in clean arcs... those were done with something sharp, moving fast.<br/><br/>Knives, of course, didn't tend to leave three sets of lines.<br/><br/>Bereft of any furniture, the entryway itself wasn't too bad--a set of bloodied stairs leading upwards, a hallway leading back, and a locked door on the right. It was the living room on the left that caught his eye, the striped wallpaper messy and saturated in places and the hardwood floor a swimming pool of blood and remnants. Bits of hair and assorted viscera bubbled to the surface or jammed themselves in the cracks beneath splintered wood and the remnants of a sofa, and the ruined innards of a grandfather clock spilled out from where it had fallen and jammed itself against the fireplace.<br/><br/>"Lot of people died here, boss." George chimed in over the mic after a moment, shooting a look to Justina over his shoulder before moving into the room, sweeping carefully and taking slow steps. "Still no bodies, though."