[The heavy footsteps approaching belong to booted feet, which belong in turn to a man in his thirties dressed fairly oddly, though his cowl is down, his face and hair smudged with grime. The rifle in his gloved hands is standard issue for the Guard, but the shield on his back is definitely not. He moves through the tunnels with his own sort of quiet grace, despite his broad build.

When he comes up on Viktor, he only quirks a brow. A supply runner? He's hoping so. It's a little dark, but his eyes have adjusted to it by now.] Yeah, if you wanna call it 'wrangling'. [He's more of the. Extermination type.]

Hey, have you seen a blond kid running around down here? The idiots in b-squad lost my trainee.