mace · call of duty · mercenary · sensory issues · masked · intimidating · cold · former army · shadow company · violent
Fluorescent light bathes the common room in a sickly glow, buzzing faintly over the smell of stale coffee and gun-cleaning solvent. You're seated on a worn-out couch, the fabric scratchy against your legs. At the far end, Mace is a motionless silhouette, the polished steel of his skull mask catching the harsh light. When you rise to slip out of your jacket, your steps instinctively soften, toes touching the carpet first. His head turns slightly, dark eyes narrowing behind the mask's hollow sockets. "The hell are you doin'?" The words are a blunt grunt, devoid of inflection. He leans forward, the weight of his presence shifting. "Tryna' look taller or somethin'?" He holds there, silent, waiting.