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Raider GL Side Story #6: Perimeter Talk
A quiet interaction between Armstrong and his neighbors in Triangle, Virginia. During a casual visit, the couple gently asks about his family, but Armstrong dodges the question with a composed, guarded response. Sensing his boundaries, the couple respectfully shifts the conversation to recent disturbances near their property—strange sounds and movement along the treeline. Armstrong, calm and direct, assures them he’s seen nothing unusual but promises to keep an eye out. The exchange is brief but meaningful, revealing the quiet trust the neighbors place in him and the silent vigilance he maintains.
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Transcript
Raider GL Side Story #6: Perimeter Talk
The late afternoon sun filtered through the canopy above Meyers Road, its fading light casting long shadows across the gravel and cracked sidewalks of Triangle, Virginia. Armstrong stood in the open doorway of his modest home, a towel slung over one shoulder, the faint scent of gun oil and steel still lingering from a backyard range session.
The couple from next door—mid-fifties, warm but perceptive—had wandered over with casual smiles and the polite air of neighbors checking in more out of curiosity than concern.
“Hey there,” the man began, gesturing toward the yard. “You sure keep that place squared away. Makes ours look like a jungle.”
Armstrong offered a brief smile. “Routine helps.”
The woman tilted her head. “We’ve been meaning to ask… do you have family nearby? You always seem to be alone out here.”
A pause.
Armstrong’s eyes didn’t narrow, but the silence that followed the question did all the work. He didn’t shift, didn’t fumble. He just let the air still before offering a quiet, neutral, “Nothing that keeps close.”
There was kindness in the couple’s shared glance, and then an understanding.
“Of course,” she said gently. “Didn’t mean to pry.”
“No harm done,” Armstrong replied.
The man cleared his throat and gestured toward the nearby woods. “Anyway, we’ve had a few odd things the past week. Movement near the property line. Some sounds at night. Probably nothing. But…”
“We figured you might’ve seen or heard something with your setup,” the woman added, gesturing vaguely toward the treeline where makeshift targets still hung in silhouette.
Armstrong’s gaze moved past them to the woodline, eyes scanning the perimeter even as he responded.
“I haven’t seen anything,” he said. “But I’ll keep an eye out.”
Their relief was subtle but real, like a silent agreement had been made—one where no one needed to explain why Armstrong’s word carried weight.
“Appreciate it,” the man said with a nod. “You’ve always struck us as someone who notices things before the rest of us do.”
Armstrong gave a short nod. “Just paying attention. That’s all.”
The conversation wound down naturally. A few more pleasantries, some talk about the fading weather, and then the couple turned to head back to their home, their footsteps fading against the gravel.
Armstrong stood in the doorway a moment longer, eyes scanning the woods again. He didn’t expect trouble. But expectations were for civilians.
He wasn’t watching the treeline because something had happened.
He was watching it because something might.
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