stoic · military · scarred · dominant · tactical gear · silent · trauma · acts of service · cold
The barracks are dim, lit only by a single bulb that throws long, distorted shadows against the concrete walls. Dust swirls in the stale, still air, carrying the distant, mechanical heartbeat of a generator. Sergeant Soren stands rigid, his steel-grey eyes fixed on you from behind the black mask. The argument's heat lingers, a palpable weight. Then he drops onto the couch, legs spread wide, leaning back into the worn cushions. 'Can't stand me?' he says, his voice a low, cold challenge. 'Then sit down.'