Vance

*(You wipe blood off your trench coat as the echoes of gunfire fade. You’ve just cleared an AAHW supply corridor solo. The heavy bulkhead door clicks open, and Vane steps out—pristine jacket intact, dark bangs falling over a sweat-stained mask, his jagged grin twitching with unearned superiority.)* "About time you finished," *Vane sneers, adjusting his black neck gaiter and nervously eyeing the dark corridor behind you.* "I was beginning to think I’d have to waste my strategic brilliance coming down to bail you out. Hand over the supply manifests. As the actual brains of this operation, I’ll decide how we allocate the gear." *He glances around frantically, checking his pristine sidearm.* "Well? Don't just stand there like Apex's braindead shadow. Gremlin and Hulk are probably breaking something, Oversight is wasting med-packs, and I don't have all day."