[Selflessness, by Chloe's definition, has always been synonymous with stupidity. It's the sort of heroism that brings about a quick end to an otherwise interesting story, the sort of tactic employed by someone that hasn't got the full grasp of how valuable life truly is.
She does. She always has. It's why when things are in the process of turning sour, she's already got one foot out the door, and why survival has always been at the top of her list of priorities. And why she should be anywhere else than where she stands, straight-faced and focused, M-9 rifle in hand running clean sweeps with its laser sight across the shadowed halls beyond the limits of the living quarters-- taking the occasional (literal) shot in the darkness when distant noise sounds off like an alarm.
Like hell is she planning on letting anything close in on housing. Better hope you're not on the other end of her scope.]
HOUSING:
[Much as she might like to pretend rest is unnecessary, it isn't. Ten hour shifts in the corridor are capped off with a purposeful run to where supplies are being housed for a quick recharge: one meager snack, a few bottles of water, and a nap-- if possible-- spent sitting upright (gun in hand) against the nearest wall till noise or the dull vibrations of shuffling feet bring her back to consciousness without a second spent on hesitation or grogginess.
And occasionally the leveling of her gun. --Shit, sorry, mate. Pure instinct.]
Chloe Frazer | OTA
[Selflessness, by Chloe's definition, has always been synonymous with stupidity. It's the sort of heroism that brings about a quick end to an otherwise interesting story, the sort of tactic employed by someone that hasn't got the full grasp of how valuable life truly is.
She does. She always has. It's why when things are in the process of turning sour, she's already got one foot out the door, and why survival has always been at the top of her list of priorities. And why she should be anywhere else than where she stands, straight-faced and focused, M-9 rifle in hand running clean sweeps with its laser sight across the shadowed halls beyond the limits of the living quarters-- taking the occasional (literal) shot in the darkness when distant noise sounds off like an alarm.
Like hell is she planning on letting anything close in on housing. Better hope you're not on the other end of her scope.]
HOUSING:
[Much as she might like to pretend rest is unnecessary, it isn't. Ten hour shifts in the corridor are capped off with a purposeful run to where supplies are being housed for a quick recharge: one meager snack, a few bottles of water, and a nap-- if possible-- spent sitting upright (gun in hand) against the nearest wall till noise or the dull vibrations of shuffling feet bring her back to consciousness without a second spent on hesitation or grogginess.
And occasionally the leveling of her gun. --Shit, sorry, mate. Pure instinct.]