It is so damn hot. The heat, the stifling humidity... All of this just screamed at Ramses to run away...

To be fair, Ramses comes from a hot place as well. It is just that the heat he grew up with and trained in is of the dry variety. This wet jungle heat is not doing him any favors. Sitting in a packed bus overflowing with what is essentially testosterone didn't help either. From his own perspective, every single passenger in the bus is a trained killer. He was one, and to be recruited into going to this 'camp' most likely meant that they were at least as good as he was, if not better.

Tugging at the canvas sack he brought with him, he started wondering about what the camp would be like. Would the organizers of this place really put a bus full of elite military personnel through group bonding activities? Fuck that. There isn't need. Everyone is trained to follow directions, to work as a team, to complete the objective through whatever means necessary. 

The rickety rumblings of the bus came to a halt. They had arrived at their destination. About time. Ramses waited for his turn to fall out. Once on the ground, Ramses instinctively stretched out and groaned. Shaking out whatever rust the bus just gave him, he fell in line with the rest of his camp mates when a man named Joe stepped up and addressed them.  

General military scare tactics. Don't die, don't run, my word is the only word. All that shit. Ramses had heard it a million times, well now a million and one. In any case, when the welcome speech ended, Ramses approached the bulletin board, and checked out his tent assignment. Tent D. Saving the best for last?

Heading over the his tent, he saw a short woman heading the same way. He approached, and spoke in a calm, but direct voice "Ms. Garcia I take it? I'm Ramses, it looks like we're sharing a tent?"
[@Liv]