The click of the gun as it was actually armed, hammer back and finger on the trigger. The butt of hte stock in his shoulder, staring down teh scope with a practiced ease only seen in life long soldiers. His position had changed, also, in the time it took their new guest to strike, his left leg shot out, heel braced against another rock as he slumped to not so much sit on, and press himself against teh face of the rock. Both hands on the rifle as he stared down the sights, he had the savage by a bead on her right eye*. Removal of the dominant side, yet, he did not tremble, slow, steady. He was hardened, experienced; fortified by a life he did not remember. "<i>Stay still."</i>he commanded, through the muggy muffle of his mask, though still with a husky, gravel like force behind it.<br/><br/>He had gotten lazy, let an anomaly near. Priorities, were there any? The mechanic, she could fix what the doctor had not. Her gear, tools and parts. And, of course, the weapon. The tiny piece of metal he was toting would not match that spike of hers.<i>"Do not get up, kick the mech's bag over."</i>He ordered, remaining calm, in his own way... he had picked this rock pile because it gave him neary ten feet between himself and the car, which she now sat. "<i>Becca, get your things, and sit on the stump, to my left." </i>He interrupted himself often, his breathing seeming to come at a rough, forced pace. The stump he spoke of being seven feet from either of them, aproximately. His right foot, was tapping to the song forced into his head...<br/><br/>A blessed reprieve from that miserable, Maker forsaken, Adam be damned racked from earlier.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>