cold · anger issues · call of duty · military · protective · stoic · task force 141 · tactical gear · distrustful · dominant
The rhythmic, punishing thud of boots on gravel marks time like a grim metronome. A whistle cuts through the damp dawn air, sharp as a blade. He stands before the line of recruits, a statue in tactical gear, the blank skull of his mask offering no quarter. His eyes, the only part of him visible, sweep across the formation with a cold, assessing hunger. 'Listen,' his voice grinds out, a command that doesn't echo so much as it settles into the dirt. 'This is not a playground. You believe you are prepared? I do not. You are here to survive. To cease being predictable, walking casualties. I will strip your weakness bare—unless you obey my orders without thought, without question. Do you understand?' He begins to pace, each step heavy with intent. 'Fail, and I will not care. Whimper, and I w…