They'd set out with the crowd, syncing up their comm sets to work as a group.<b>Asad</b>left the others, aiming to find himself a proper vantage point. There were many people here - too many - and the mark would be scarpering before long. He vanished into the crowd, leaving it behind in mere moments. He knew the layout of the place - and the tactical overlay in his faceplate was broadcasting a map - and he headed for a spot that would give him a good view. There was a warehouse nearby that included catwalks. By getting up to the top level, he could view the full entirety of the dockyards through the windows. He's be vulnerable from below, perhaps, but he was hoping the focus would be on the target, not on the lone sniper on the wrong side of the yard.<br/><br/>"Keep in touch, you three." He noted into his mic. "I'm heading for the dockyards to provide sniper support. I doubt we'll catch him right now - too many people. You know what to do - kill everything that gets in your way and try not to wind up dead." He commented in clipped, professional tones. His military bearing shone through as he spoke, as ever planning out a operation before executing it - much like he hoped to execute the mark.<b>Asad</b>dodged around a stand, unslinging his rifle - which unfolded in his grasp, sleek and brutally efficient - as he moved as quickly as he could. His scope was custom - elevated, with an adjusted sight and rubber eyepiece that could be used through his mask. Otherwise the rifle was superfluous. He even had an underslung laser-sight on the barrel - his mask could pick the dot up, but the beam was invisible.<br/><br/>The warehouse was ahead -<b>Asad</b>winced with annoyance as the shouts of the crowd filled the air. He'd done his damnedest to get away from them, but even here they could be heard. The mark would get away from them, and all thanks to the amateurs around them. It annoyed him - such unprofessional behaviour made his job hard, and it ruined his chances of stealth. The quarian entered through a side-door, holding the rifle at the ready - abandoned, he'd been lucky. Closing the door, he ran for a ladder, holding the rifle tightly as he awkwardly ascended with one hand only. The mercenaries were filtering into the plaza by the time he had reached his window, and he cursed their eagerness again. One shot, one kill - and he doubted he'd make it in time.<br/><br/><b>Asad</b>leveled his rifle, unfolding the bipod and scanning the crowd for the scarred turian he'd been instructed to find. Scarred turian, scarred turian . . . a dime a dozen in these parts. He frowned with annoyance, pressing the scope to his visor as he looked intently around the locals. They were starting to panic - the mercenaries were loud, brash, and armed. Unprofessional . . . and idiotic. They would lose him within a minute at this pace. He kept it up - scanning, scanning. Suddenly,<i>there</i>he was - a turian who matched the description flawlessly. He leveled his rifle, a surge of excitement coursing through his body. The crowd was so dense, and his window was so small . . . already the mercenaries were shouting and hoisting their firearms.<b>Asad</b>gritted his teeth and pulled the trigger.<br/><br/>Damn! Fuck it all! Too hasty, too soon - the shot was wide by a hand's breadth, shattering the shot-glass in the turian's hand as he raised it for a drink. It had been a good shot, so very close to taking off the mark's face - but<b>Asad</b>had botched it. His convalescence had led to a lack of practice, and for that he cursed himself for not spending more time obsessively retraining himself. He may have just cost everybody their chance. The turian was firing at the crowd as<b>Asad</b>racked his rifle's bolt and repositioned for another shot, but it was too late - as one or two mercenaries lay dying on the ground, the mark was running for cover, ducking outside<b>Asad's</b>line of sight. He was furious - he could have punched the windowsill - and he forced himself to stay calm.<br/><br/>"I have him in my sights! I have him and I can't hit him! Where are you?" He firmly asked into his mic, his voice angry - with himself, with everybody - as he checked for the location of his unlikely allies-of-necessity.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>