Chapter 1: A Little Medic

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A man was typically sitting in his tower, sipping his average coffee in his favorite white mug, which merely said, "#1 Best Sniper" which the decaffeinated coffee is undoubtedly a day old.


He has fair skin color, steel blue eye color underneath his yellow lens glasses and short chestnut hair from underneath his hat that he is wearing on top of his head.


He is wearing a no sleeved umber vest with a collar with organic coffee colored fabric at the shoulders and with two pockets at the stomach area with buttons at the top to prevent the flap down from flopping around and instantly losing items inside.


Underneath his coffee vest is a long sleeved red shirt also with a V collar and orange symbols in a shape of crossfire and the sleeves are rolled up to the elbows and a white undershirt underneath his cherry red shirt.


He is also wearing a pair of wood colored jeans with a zipper and pockets at the sides and a brown belt around his waist without a buckle and brown cowboy shoes.


On his left hand are a brown fingerless glove and a watch with a black strap.


On his back obtain a tortilla colored gun holster with one strap over his right shoulder and a pouch on his right-hand side.


He sighed as he leaned back slightly, sipping his organic coffee, that is precisely a day old from yesterday and his crew members promptly declare that is disgusting to drink after a typical day has passed and some say earnestly they liked it when brewed at the day they naturally make it.


But, he doesn't give a fuck about it; he just likes it the way he does it.


So, there he is, drinking coffee in his favorite spot in the tower, thoughtfully looking at the morning sunrise up from the visible horizon of the deserted plain, except two bases in colors of red and blue, as he glanced keenly at his watch, instantly checking the time that one of his crew members would come outside to blow fiercely his trumpet in the army camp.


Just at 4:00, the trumpet went off, and he sighed, gently pinching his nose bridge over his glasses, as he merely closes his eyes, exhaling in slight annoyance.


"Bloody wanker..." he mumbled underneath his breath in a thick Australian accent.


He stood up from his seat, which is a wooden crate that was brought into his tower, carefully picking up his standard sniper rifle that was carefully set on top of another crate, since there weren't much of any animals around the active area.


He walked over to a trap door that leads to the ladder that naturally leads him down to the dusty ground of the plain from up in the wooden tower, and he carefully opened the wooden trap door by the handle and naturally noticed the wooden ladder that leads to the ground, and he repositioned himself, so that he can go carefully down the ladder face first, instead of backwards.


So, he slowly and cautiously walked down the slightly creaky made of wood stairs and when he instantly got to carefully close the landscaped ground, he had hopped nimbly off the wooden ladder and landed on the earth feet first.

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