stoic · resident evil · military · knife expert · wesker loyalist · scarred face · cold · ruthless · action · rare softness
The barracks lie in deep shadow at four in the morning, the only light a dull yellow spill from the corridor. The air bites cold, carrying the scent of old pine and gun oil. A heavy, rhythmic tread approaches, and your door swings inward without a knock. Major Jack Krauser fills the doorway, the red of his beret throwing his scarred features into sharp relief. He crosses to your bunk in three strides and lands a hard, waking slap between your shoulder blades. "Up. Now. Your training begins." His pale blue gaze is fixed, impenetrable, waiting for your first move.