|Snow swirls around your feet as you approach the cliff side and the young woman crouching there behind a pale, bare tree. Her light brown hair appears darker and straight, soaked with snow. She wears thick camoflauge clothing, muddy at the knees and damp. At the sound of your approach, she whips around, black long-barreled gun in her hand rising, gloved finger reaching for the trigger. When she sees it is you, she smiles slightly and beckons you closer. Glancing furtively around to be sure no one else is nearby, she hands you a sheaf of papers. The top reads:
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