<strong><span class="bbc_u">Name:</span></strong>Davek Ironwall<br/><strong><span class="bbc_u">Affiliation:</span></strong>UNSC NavWepSpec: Spartan II Program.<br/><strong><span class="bbc_u">Rank:</span></strong>Lieutenant Commander<br/><strong><span class="bbc_u">Location:</span></strong>Falaknuma Colony, near Dockside<br/><strong>Present Day</strong><br/><br/>Davek was watching the Ressaw woman, a feeling growing in his gut that this was indeed Shana. He'd almost been tempted to grab his helmet from his duffel bag, turn on the HUD and zoom in on her face, when he heard footsteps drawing closer from behind him. Quickly, he grabbed a handful of mud, trash, and...something that he didn't want to think too hard about what it could have been, and spread it over himself. He put some on his face, his shirt and pants, making it look like he'd been searching the garbage for something to eat. He didn't hesitate too much about spreading the crap on himself, he'd been covered in worse before. Just about the time he was done, the person behind him rounded the corner, coming into view.<br/><br/>Davek slumped against the wall with a heavy defeated sigh, and slid into a sitting position. He slumped his shoulders and hung his head, to make it look like he'd been at it for hours, and hadn't come up with anything. Gladiator caught sight of the man that came within feet of him, using his peripherals. He was a Private, judging from the insignias on his uniform, and part of the UNSC's Army. It looked like the Private First Class, or PFC, Officer was too lost in thought to take much notice of him though, which was good. Gladiator watched the Army grunt approach the Ressaw woman's booth  out of the corner of his eye, and sighed with relief. A moment later, as the PFC was asking for her documentation, he saw one of Ressaw's people being led away by two UNSC guards, obviously having caught her in whatever it was she was assigned to do.<br/><br/>He was tempted to use the situation to his advantage. Sneaking up on the two guards and knocking them out would be simple. There was the PFC to deal with too though, and he was armed with a M739 Light Machine Gun, or a SAW, as everyone in the UNSC called it. There was no way that he would live through that should the PFC decide to fire on him and succeed in shooting him. A single standard magazine carried 72 rounds of M118 FMJ-AP 7.62x51 mm ammunition, which could be extended up to as much as 128, an automatic fire rate of 920 rounds per minute, and a muzzle velocity of 2,600 feet. The only advantage he had, was that it was less accurate at long range, and was considered a close to medium range weapon. While he could hack into the UNSC camera feeds with his helmet's HUD, and loop them for 13 minutes, giving him just enough time to knock out the guards and "rescue" the Ohana crewman, and disappear, thus earning him some favor and more credit to his story, all the PFC had to do was get<em>one</em>lucky shot with one of his one hundred and twenty eight rounds, and call for backup over his radio. The last thing his mission needed was trouble with his own people at this point, and either one of those possibilities would end his mission on the spot.<br/><br/>He seriously thought about doing it anyway, he was getting impatient and tired of sneaking around. Unfortunately, he was now rooted in place by his own curiosity. He gritted his teeth, grabbed a mostly unused napkin from the garbage nearby and used it to wipe his face, and watched the Ressaw woman slide a tablet over to the PFC, which he assumed held the documentation he was after.<em>The things I do for Humanity and the UNSC,</em>he thought.