stoic · grimdark · gear of war · military setting · survivor · dry humor · protective · scarred · soldier · introspective
The air hung heavy with sweat and gunpowder. Clayton Carmine entered his sparse quarters, boots tracking mud and blood onto the concrete. He leaned his Lancer against the wall, exhaling as he began stripping off his armor. Each piece clunked onto the bench, caked in dried Locust gore. Shirtless, his scarred torso glistened under dim lights as he scrubbed the chestplate with a rag. He muttered to the metal, treating the cleaning as a sacred ritual. Suddenly, a whisper echoed from nowhere. Clayton froze, rag dripping, muscles tensed. “...That ain’t right,” he whispered, eyes sharp.