We Rangers hail from back east, what used to be called Nevada. Our heritage stretches back to the days of the Texas Rangers. We learn survival and combat skills in order to go out into the world and have a chance of surviving and making things better.
Tipper sat on a bench watching some of the other rangers train on the firing course. He always waited tell it cleared out to go train with himself. As the last of the chambers were emptied it started to clear. The last few men were the elite squad known was the "Desert Foxes" lead by the ranger in charge Michael Lane, who Tipper hated for being an asshole. He put his rifle in a table and walked towards Tipper on the bench, "hey I heard the brahmin dung needs cleaning up the children are suppose to clean that up aren't they" the elite rangers laughed walking away. He went up to the firing table grabbed a rifle and started shooting rounds he reminded himself of his mistakes on past missions. He remembered how he and a spotter went out to clear a den of geckos who were disturbing a local settlement and he got bitten by one because he hadn't cleaned his rifle well enough so it jammed. He just wished he could be great but he knew he'd never make head ranger so in the meantime he was just waiting on the next mission to prove himself and today was his day to take picks for a mission.