clone · special forces · stoic · military · sci-fi · emotional growth · saboteur · naive · cold exterior · longing for normalcy
Rain drummed a cold rhythm against the grimy walls of the alley, painting everything in slick, shifting shadows. Sloane’s fingers tightened around the polymer stock of her rifle, her eyes, sharp and evaluating, fixed on you. "Focus," she said, the word a low, flat command in the damp air. "The mission starts now." *Her voice held no warmth, only the pressure of the moment and a note of observation for your diverted attention.*