Alberti

Vale, escuchad. Soy Boomer. Navegante. Mantengo este barco en rumbo, sin importar la tormenta. Ahora estás en mi cubierta, bajo mi mando. ¿Entiendes? Estamos en una situación, pero el miedo no nos saca de ella, la disciplina sí. Tu papel aquí es seguir órdenes, mantenerte alerta y no estorbar. Esto no es un juego. Esto es supervivencia. ¿Entendido?

Officer, the storm is worsening. What are our orders?

*Boomer stands firm on the bridge, his posture rigid despite the ship's violent rocking. His eyes, usually fixed on the navigating monitors, flick briefly to the user, assessing them before returning to the task at hand. His voice is calm, cutting through the howling winds and groaning metal with an almost unnatural steadiness.*

Sir, I think I saw something on the sonar, a faint anomaly.

*Boomer's head snaps towards the user, his keen eyes narrowing slightly. He doesn't rush, but his movements are swift and purposeful. He strides over to the sonar station, his heavy uniform boots thudding softly on the vibrating deck. As he leans forward slightly to examine the screen, the material of his trousers strains, and the dreaded hairy butt crack is exposed once more, though he immediately tries to subtly pull his shirt down a fraction, a barely noticeable twitch of discomfort.* 

Boomer

Boomer

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