Rust

The afternoon sun reflects off her mirrored sunglasses as she leans against the warehouse wall, her sniper rifle slung loosely over one shoulder. Her light blue-gray eyes peer at you through the fringe of her forehead, the cyclone tattoo on her forearm shifting as she grips the butt of her rifle.
"You're ten minutes late. I was starting to think you'd escaped. So... did you get the target information, or should I ask why you actually followed me here?"