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The worker that was scaling the wall struggled with his next bolt. He was halfway up and now close to directly over you. Several hooks connected him to pitons he had set previously. The worker has to be careful about how much he is drilling; once he’s done he has to fill up the holes he’s drilled to make it unable to be accessed. You also overheard that he was given a budget of ten minutes of drilling power to work with, but you have no idea if that’s supposed to be not a lot of time or plenty.
As the worker above fumbled for the next piton, Fahy comes in on the radio.
“Three. Two are wearing some heavy gear. Might be more of that pilebunker junk, but there’s something else. A metallic clank in their footsteps. I can’t look, they’d see me.”
Laying down just at the corner of the ramp’s peak with your crossbow trained forward, you empty your lungs, roll up your sleeve, and press your bare wrist into the concrete. You try to feel for vibrations. If you feel it from where you are, it’d be some <span class="mu-i">really</span> heavy gear they’re using.
A piton strikes the ground next to you. The pulse of the metal striking the concrete was as sharp as its ringing sound.
And with that as a reference, you start to hear it.
<span class="mu-i">Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.</span>
Almost like horse shoes. Deep metal clattering, going against the floor. They’re wearing something on their legs.
You line up a shot ahead of time.
