Grant Miller
The convoy came to a stop in the village. Grant leaped out, only to see...nothing, really. Everything was quiet, eerily quiet. Like, "It's quiet, too quiet" quiet. It was literally the scene of every movie ambush, ever. And sometimes movies could be right. He didn't know what Ngata was thinking by sending them in to almost 99% certain injury/death, considering we had just had two badly injured trainees in the HQ raid, among several minor ones, three deaths in Hong Kong, and the massacre of several Guardians in the coup. Did they just like killing them off? Oh, wait, Grant already knew the answer to that question.
And it was yes.
But, the idiot was basically blind to the fact they were all gonna die if they walked in. But then, some villager crashed through the underbrush and came lumbering over, veeeery slowly. Suddenly, it was like a new electricity charged the air. Everything was tense, quiet. Some girl started yelling in Spanish, and both her and some other girl pointed their guns at him. Something was off about him. He wouldn't meet their gazes, he walked like a twitching rabid dog, he didn't even pay attention to them. Grant slowly pulled out his own pistol, locking and loading.
"How do we know this new strain isn't dangerous? If he makes a threatening move, I'm blowing his brains out. We can't afford to lose more trainees." He began to slowly walk towards the man, veeeery slowly, keeping his gun trained on his head. He didn't know much Spanish, so he tried to spit out what little he knew.
"Oi, tu! Dices a donde van todos, yo no te disparo, ¿entiendes?" he yelled, ready to fire.