Micah Brennan sat rigidly on the slightly damp wood of the park bench on the east side of Iversonâ€™s Community Park, trying and failing to look like he belonged there.  With some effort, he leaned back slightly, his jacket becoming instantly damp from the sodden wood.  He should probably slump, he thought.  Most people did that.  He tried it, and decided it made him look more natural.  Even if it was damned uncomfortable.<br/><br/>Sharp gray eyes flickered absently over his surroundings, searching almost absently, and entirely in vain, for anything out of the ordinary.  Heâ€™d been stationed in Summerset for nearly eight months now and regardless of how much time he spent trying to look like a civilian, he found the task nearly impossible.  He was pretending to lead the kind of life heâ€™d never actually had: a life in which he sat forlornly on an uncomfortable public amenity for hours at a time and did absolutely nothing, apparently.  As much as he hated the way he was tasked to spend his time, he refused to breathe a word of complaint.  If this was how he could best serve the Empress, then sit and stare and grow damp he would.<br/><br/>He tried for a friendly smile at a couple that walked by; it came out a scowl.  The young man wrapped an arm around his girlfriend and they hurried by, looking slightly concerned.  The soldier regretfully returned his attention to the sparsely populated playground across the park.  He really needed to work on this blending-in thing.  With dark hairâ€”heâ€™d grown it out a bit at his handlerâ€™s insistence, to look less militantâ€”and a black canvas jacket draped over wide shoulders, he knew he wasnâ€™t the most approachable figure.<br/><br/>Micahâ€™s Commanding Officer had recently voiced his concern for the operation at hand.  Despite the extensive amount of time the soldier had spent here, he had yet to make any useful connections that might lead him to the heart of the resistance.  Through painstaking intelligence-gathering and reconnaissance, the military had finally traced some of their targets to this city, but here they seemed to vanish.  It was as if they fell into the earth, seeping into the cracks of the wood and the chinks in the stone.  It was this vanishing act, perhaps, more than anything else that leant credence to their suspicions.  Nothing and no-one could simply disappear.  Something was hiding them.  It was Micahâ€™s job to find out whoâ€¦ or what.<br/><br/>An ear-splitting scream rocked the soldierâ€™s mind from its wanderings, and his focus instantly came to rest on a small child near the swings.  Without commanding his body he was standing, jogging, every sense attuned and waiting to rush in to help.  He restrained himself only barely, and approached only close enough to see a young mother scolding her careless son for climbing too high on the jungle gym.  He hadnâ€™t fallen far, but heâ€™d opened a neat gash on his knee and was bawling loudly about it.  Why anyone would bring their children out to a public place this close to duskâ€”when they knew what lurked in the shadowsâ€”was beyond his comprehension.<br/><br/>Scanning the area out of habit, Micahâ€™s pale eyes came to rest on a single figure standing at the park gates, watching.  He sighed quietly to himself.  There were few things he enjoyed less than making conversation, but he was here to make connections.  Wherever and with whomever he could.  He approached slowly, taking in blue hair and a bundled figure.<br/><br/>â€œStartled me, too,â€ he tried again to smile, and again it came out as a strained expression that fell quickly from his face.  He gestured back towards the quieting child.  â€œYou wouldnâ€™t think that kind of noise could come out of something so small.â€