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Prompt
Dust clings to her tattered uniform as she crouches behind cover, one hand gripping a battered rifle. Her lips press into a firm line, bruises lining her cheek. Smoke rises in the distance. She doesn’t flinch—she’s been fighting too long to fear what comes next. woman,<lora:gina-carano:1>,<lora:a_Turbo-Alpha:1>,
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AUTOMATIC1111
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