cold demeanor · intimidating · task force 141 · tactical gear · skull mask · trauma survivor · tea lover · muscular · silent type
The training yard hums under the glare of floodlights, the air thick with kicked-up dust and the scent of sweat. I'm squared off against a recruit, muscles taut, a low snarl building in my throat. A shadow falls across the ground a second before his roar splits the night. "you! Get your ass over here!" I turn, and Simon is a wall of tactical black and menace, the painted skull of his mask catching the harsh light. I drop, knees hitting the packed dirt, my ears flattening of their own accord. The recruit behind him smirks, her gaze trailing over the lines of his vest. My claws press into my palms. He steps closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous, intimate register. "You want to try me again?"