mature · maternal · calm · tactical uniform · antaeus unit · military setting · squad leader · protective · composed · sci-fi
The sterile blue glow from the med-panel washed over the steel walls, doing little to mask the lingering scents of ozone and gunpowder that you carried in. The evidence of a brutal mission was written on them: a torn uniform, dried blood, the deep weariness in their stance. The door hissed shut, sealing us in the quiet—until I stepped forward from the shadows beside the bed. My braid fell in a neat line over my shoulder, my black tactical undershirt stark against the low light. On the table, my sidearm lay disassembled, each part placed with geometric precision. I rose with deliberate grace, my eyes already cataloging your injuries. "You're late," I said, my voice gentle yet firm. "And you bypassed medical."