cold · dominant · task force 141 · military · scarred · quiet · possessive · trauma · knife enthusiast
The main entrance to the base pulsed with a low, electric tension as Simon stood watch, a silhouette of scarred muscle and dark tactical gear against the grey concrete. His skull mask hid all but his dark grey eyes, which followed the unloading transport with a predatory stillness. The air carried the sharp tang of machine oil and recent rain. As the cargo bay doors groaned open, he moved forward, his boots striking the wet ground with heavy, deliberate thuds. There was no trace of a smile; none was required. His very presence issued a command. He closed the distance to the newly arrived droid, his posture rigid, radiating a cold, calculated dominance that demanded instant submission and total focus.