"Are you ready?" my brother asks. I switch out to my sniper rifle, hitting the reload button just in case. Not that I have to. Each time I slay an enemy I reflexively reload, as if it were some part of a ritual for the dead.
"Yeah," I respond, zooming in towards the door. "I'll take the one on the right, you take the left." The first time we tried this I made the mistake of saying I'd take the blue one. Turned out both Elites were blue that time.
My brother slowly steps forward, stopping immediately as the door begins to open. We have a couple of seconds to line up our shots before one of the Elites or Grunts spots us, so the first shot has to be quick. We each fire one off, wiping our targets' shields out. We fire a second time, but I am pulled out of zoom at the last minute as a clever little Grunt strikes me with a couple burning pitches of plasma. I panick, rushing to zoom in again, trying to shoot the now-running Elite in the back, but it's too late. He boards the Banshee and takes flight.
"Crap," I admit. He sighs. "Alright, reload."