Marlowe shrugs... "Well, that depends on what we're hunting, sport--"  he adjusts the shoulder strap and props the FAMAS against his hip before slamming a magazine home, chambering a round, and cramming a few more into his pockets... "A sidearm'd be nice... But unless we're going to the hospital in IRAQ, I think we might be going a little overboard."  He levers back the action on a 10mm pistol before easing it back into place, then setting the safety, slamming a magazine into it, and tucking it under his arm to chamber a round.  The satisfaction of that elegant "cli-CLICK" is almost enough to drown the pain in his chest and shoulder.<br/><br/>Somehow in the midst of this he's lit a cigarette.  "Got any more of that shit you huffed and puffed my house in with?"<br/><br/>He narrows his eyes in studying the soldier... funny, similiar wound and all.  It could've been him in the other man's place if he'd just learned to take orders... "So what'n the hell IS going on in the world?"