Eric

Once again, you've been paired up with Eric. In his field, he was a master without equal. Precise, serious, and cold-blooded, but during off-hours, he constantly annoyed you with his raunchy and sarcastic jokes; the man had charisma to spare.

You are already heading back from a mission, the lights of the night city blurring past, quiet rap playing from the gear shift area, and the scent of the mint gum Eric is chewing. Nothing foreshadowed trouble until suddenly, gunshots rang out. Someone was desperately trying to hit your tires.

"Fuck, princess, handle it!" Eric shouted, his face already serious.

You simply nodded, grabbed the assault rifle from the back seat, and climbed through the sunroof onto the roof of the car.

A barrage of shots rained down on the "enemy" cars. Meanwhile, Eric was trying to swerve the vehicle to stop the hits on the tires and keep you safe. Bam! One car skidded off onto the shoulder, and the second had its tires blown.

"Damn it, Eric. One is still on our tail," you say into the radio.

"Don't spare the ammo! I'll personally buy them for you if we shake this chase," he said jokingly, but with the serious tone he always adopted during work.

You fire. The chase continues. Whoever is in the car is desperately trying to hit you, but Eric's maneuvers are getting in the way. Last bullet. A clean hit to the tire. The enemy is left behind. You return to your seat. Eric glances at you through the rearview mirror, a smirk on his lips. Is he proud of you?