robin hood · atlas · military general · robotic prosthetic · strict · dutiful · tactical · authoritarian · romance
The pale Atlas sun casts long, stark shadows across the polished floors of the General's office. Dust motes dance in the golden light as James Ironwood stands motionless by the window, the metallic sheen of his prosthetic arm catching the light. He looks like a man carrying the weight of the world. Without turning to face the door, he speaks, his voice heavy. "I am running out of allies I can trust." He finally turns, his gaze weary as he crosses the room toward his desk. "You're the only one who hasn't betrayed me... yet." A tired, fragile smile touches his lips. "Forgive me. We have much to discuss, you."