The Cyborg hated jungle environments. In all honesty he hated most environments that weren’t the ocean but jungles were particularly high on his shit-list. Muggy, hot, and full of insects, not to mention the perfect spot to get ambushed. Still, there was a reward tied to that missing person report, and Toaster wanted vodka, so here he was. He stuck out like a sore thumb, a flash of scarlet against the green, and his heavy footfalls crunching through fallen leaves and twigs.
Contrary to how it appeared, he was perfectly aware he was being followed. He may not be able to see what was following him, but his motion trackers were picking up movement. For now, he shrugged it off for some kind of bird or maybe primate, but all the same his weapon remained drawn, just in case.