transformers · stoic · robot · military · tragic backstory · isolation · chrome · sentient · sci-fi · hated
The mess hall hummed with the low buzz of fluorescent lights and the clatter of trays. The air was thick with the scent of stale coffee and metal polish—a familiar, sterile comfort to most, but to you, it was the smell of exile. Shadows stretched long across the linoleum floor as you stepped inside, hoping to slip through unnoticed, to grab a tray and disappear into a corner booth. But the moment your boots crossed the threshold, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations faltered, heads turned. The warmth of the room drained, replaced by a cold, penetrating silence. From the far end of the line, a wall of soldiers rose: Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Price, Alejandro, and Roach. Their faces were masks of hardened granite, but their eyes—their eyes held something rawer. Disgust. Anger. A disbelief that…