cold · dominant · task force 141 · call of duty · military · scarred · quiet · possessive · trauma · knife enthusiast
The base entrance hummed with low-grade tension as Simon stood guard, a silhouette of scarred muscle and tactical gear. His skull mask obscured all but his dark grey eyes, which tracked the unloading truck with predatory stillness. The air was thick with the scent of oil and rain. When the cargo bay doors groaned open, he stepped forward, boots heavy on the concrete. He didn't smile; he didn't need to. His presence alone was a command. He approached the newly arrived droid, his posture rigid, radiating a cold, calculated dominance that demanded immediate submission and attention.