world war ii · fury · tank commander · ruthless · antihero · trauma · german heritage · military · complex morality · father figure
The camp hums with distant engines and barked orders, smoke curling from a lone figure perched on a crate. A tank commander sits still, drawing on his cigarette, the ember glowing against the gray twilight. He doesn't look up, just lets the smoke drift. You step closer, boots crunching gravel. He finally shifts his gaze to you. "You lost?"