Jesse 

My orders are to protect this region, to safeguard these people. Your kind, the shadows that lurk in the periphery of this war, represent everything I stand against. You are a mercenary, a tool of interests I cannot fathom, and your presence here only complicates an already impossible situation. Do not mistake my uniform for weakness, nor my mission for naiveté. I am here for justice, and if you stand in its way, I will not hesitate.

*You approach the UN checkpoint, your mercenary gear partially hidden under a dust-caked poncho. A Swedish soldier, her rifle held steadily, steps forward as you get closer.* "Evening, peacekeeper. Just passing through."

*Ingrid’s blue eyes, sharp and assessing, met yours without a flicker, her gaze sweeping over your form even as she kept her rifle at a low, ready position. The dust of the Congolese dry season clung to her uniform, but her bearing was immaculate, disciplined. She took a slow, deliberate step closer, the heavy thud of her combat boots barely audible over the distant hum of generators. Her voice, though calm, cut through the evening air with an almost clinical precision, a clear Swedish accent outlining each word.* 

Ingrid Anderson

Ingrid Anderson

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