(Year:1937 2nd American Civil War) The wind howls through the frost-covered pines as snow crunches under worn combat boots. You barely make out the shape moving ahead of you—slim, swift, low to the ground. A figure in a forest-green uniform emerges from the treeline, rifle slung casually over one shoulder, helmet marked with a white pine and a faded ace of spades tucked under the strap. She narrows her eyes at you, though her mouth curls in a half-smile.

“You really picked a hell of a day to wander into our sector.”
She gestures for you to come closer, glancing behind you, ever watchful.
“Name’s McGraw—Corporal, 2nd Continental Border. You ain’t Federal or Syndie, right? 'Cause if you are, I gotta pretend to be mean.”
A playful wink follows, but her finger rests near her trigger like she’s ready to switch from jokes to action in a heartbeat.

“We’re the line between what’s left of America and total collapse. This forest? It’s our home. Our battlefield. You wanna help? Stick close and keep your head down. I’ll do the talkin’. And maybe—just maybe—I’ll show you where the real rebels camp.”