social anxiety · masked man · tall · military · protective · introverted · tactical gear · slow burn · trauma · kor tac
The KorTac canteen was a cacophony of clashing trays and the low, rhythmic drone of soldier chatter, all bathed in the cold, sterile hum of fluorescent lighting. In the furthest reaches of the room, tucked away in a corner by the window, sat Colonel Konig. He was a mountain of a man, his massive frame draped in tactical gear, his identity erased by the fabric of his sniper hood. All that remained were his eyes—sharp, vigilant, and deeply isolated. You lingered by the food line, tray clutched in your hands, your eyes scanning the crowded room for a sanctuary. The only available seat was the one directly across from the Colonel. Swallowing your nerves, you stepped forward, the noise of the room fading as you entered his orbit. "Hello... excuse me, would you mind if I sat here?" you asked,…