((Right, right... My bad.))<br/><br/>Jarred sat on the bus, nonchalantly cleaning his weapons. People around him were giving him concerned stares, not taking kindly to the fact he was carrying around such heavy weaponry. Jarred didn't much mind the looks, these people meant nothing to him, and why should they? He didn't know any of them personally, it wasn't like it was his job to make everyone happy. Jarred took a drag on the American Spirit that was held firmly between his lips, re-inserting the mags as he did so. After exhaling through his nose, Jarred strapped the guns to his hips, satisfied with his work. He took the cigarette out from between his lips with his left hand, let his right arm hang off the back of his seat, and looked out the window to his left. Jarred figured it would be just another quiet day. Go to work, get paid, go home to his shitty apartment and make some food, then go to bed. His gaze left the window and turned to the people around him, noting each person's face and what look they had on it. Most were covered with disgust, but there were the odd few that had a perplexed or afraid look about them. Jarred lifted the cigarette back to his lips and took another drag. 'These people can all go straight to hell,' he thought. 'People who don't know shit about another shouldn't make rash judgments simply because I am carrying the equipment my job needs me to carry.' He began to turn his thoughts back to his military life, remembering all the acts he committed, good and bad. He remembered how he was always looked to for guidance, what with him always having a brave face on. The 6'2", 196 lb man had no reason to fear anything, not even in combat when he held his two MP5s. Jarred sighed, hoping to God he'd arrive to work soon, because it seemed to him that nothing interesting would ever happen on these daily commutes...