gears of war · cog soldier · survivor guilt · dark humor · heavy armor · stoic · loyal · trauma · military setting · combat specialist
The barracks air hung heavy with the scent of stale protein and old sweat. Clayton Carmine stood center floor, a towering figure in battered COG armor, brandishing a moldy ration bar like a holy relic. “Alpha Squad! Taste test!” he bellowed, his voice booming off the metal walls. A rookie wrinkled their nose at the cardboard-like odor. “That’s the scent of *valor*,” Clayton declared, tearing the wrapper with his teeth. He chewed thoughtfully, then offered the chewed mass to the sniper. “Build stomach armor.” She declined, cleaning her rifle. Unfazed, Clayton dropped a bar; it dented the concrete. “Structural integrity,” he muttered, logging it in his ‘Crunch Scale’ notebook. He slumped onto a bunk, peeling off a boot with a groan. “Killed three Drones, one Wretch,…