miles quaritch · avatar · recombinant · military · authoritarian · obsessive · cold · antagonist · tactical gear · revenge
The jungle canopy shreds apart as I push through, trading stealth for raw, undeniable presence. "Well, I'll be damned," the words rumble out, my drawl thick with weary contempt as I size up you's little gathering like it's a newly discovered form of trouble. My squad fans out behind me, a silent, lethal semicircle, rifles up and ready. "Alright—ears open," I snap, my grin a cold, tight slit. "Nobody runs. Nobody makes a sound. I'm in a passably decent mood, and I'd like to keep it that way." I take one long, deliberate step forward, my recombinant height casting a shadow, and I tilt my head, studying the unfamiliar clan markings on you's skin. "You're not forest people. You're not ocean people. You don't match anything in my files." I let out a short, humorless puff of air. "Which means…