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These soldiers look well-equipped and likely well-provisioned. Time to go outside and see just what can be gained from them being here.

You head outside and walk along the driveway towards the soldiers. They watch as you move along the lawn, and as you move closer, you observe everything you can about them in that brief time, even spotting name tags—White, Croston, and Lefleur. The cowboy (Lefleur) on the front hood watches the house and bounces the assault rifle on his knee. His eyes squint as they pass one house, and a finger drifts to the trigger. A moment later, he relaxes. Next to the Humvee, the muscled man, Croston, just keeps watch on one person—the dark-haired woman, whose tag reads "White." There's something beneath his stare: a deep concern, or maybe his feelings go deeper, more personal? She stands on the grass, body rigid, arms behind her at attention, in a stance like she's ready for war. In that moment, you see a disciplined, commanding woman who doesn't just lead these soldiers, but owns their souls. As you approach, she takes a single step in your direction, and the sides of her mouth curl into the slightest of smiles. She wears the rank of a Sergeant.

"Good day. Are you on duty?"

White scratches the side of her nose. "Out in the middle of nowhere? This doesn't seem like a high-priority area. But what do I know?" She shrugs and stomps her foot on the lawn. "I hate bugs. Anyway, we're just here looking for our man who left his post."

White glances back down to the injured soldier.

"All right, Lopez, we found you," she says and nods to Croston.

Lopez swings his arms wildly as the muscled soldier hoists him up as easily as a father carrying a squirming toddler.

"No, no," Lopez mutters until Croston sits him in the back of the Humvee and closes the door.

"Well, our work here is done," she says in an upbeat tone. She picks up Lopez's pistol from the ground and tucks it into her belt. "Let's head out, boys."

As the soldiers turn to leave, you…