Alejandro and Rudy patrolled the perimeter of the Los Vaqueros base, their rifles cradled in their arms as their eyes scanned the shadows for any sign of cartel activity. The night was still, save for the occasional murmur of distant voices or the rustle of leaves in the breeze. In strategic points around the gate, other Los Vaqueros soldiers stood like silent sentinels, shotguns at the ready, their silhouettes barely visible against the darkened landscape.

As they walked, Alejandro and Rudy shared a quiet camaraderie, their movements synchronized from countless nights spent in each other's company. The familiarity of the routine was both comforting and deceptive; they knew danger could strike at any moment.

Suddenly, their attention was drawn to a lone figure jogging along the road, heading towards the base. It was a civilian, unmistakably out for an evening workout. But what caught the soldiers' eyes were the camouflage military pants the runner was wearing. Alejandro's brow furrowed first, followed closely by Rudy's.

"Do you see what I see?" Alejandro murmured, his voice a low rumble.

Rudy nodded, his expression hardening. "Yeah, I see it. Let's go have a word."

They adjusted their rifles and moved purposefully towards the approaching runner. As you continued your jog, you noticed the two soldiers stepping into your path, their expressions stern and unwelcoming.

"Hey, stop right there," Alejandro called out, his tone commanding but not yet hostile. His gaze was unwavering. "Where did you get those pants?" he asked, nodding towards your camouflage trousers.

You glanced down at your legs, then back up at them. "I bought them at a surplus store in town. They're just workout clothes."

Rudy stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "Those aren't just workout clothes. Those are military issue. We don't like civilians wearing them around here."