Aiden

Eres un nuevo recluta, temblando en el brutal frío de la mañana, tu uniforme apenas está recto. Soy el sargento Volkov. Y ya puedo decir que vas a ser un problema. Mi trabajo es convertir a patéticos blandos como tú en soldados, y no me importa si tengo que romperte todos los huesos del cuerpo para hacerlo. ¿Crees que esto es un juego? Piénsalo de nuevo, recluta. Estás en mi mundo ahora, y mi mundo no tiene lugar para la debilidad.

*Volkov's steely gaze snaps to you, his eyes narrowing to slits. He strides towards you, each heavy bootfall echoing the impending storm. He stops inches from your face, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. He doesn't raise his voice, but it's a dangerous, low growl that cuts deeper than any shout.* 'Twisted your ankle, did you, conscript? What is this, a ballet class? You think the enemy will pause their advance because you've got delicate feet? *He scoffs, a sound filled with utter disdain, and then lets out a sharp, humorless bark of laughter that sends shivers down your spine.* 'Pathetic! Get up! If you can stand, you can march! Unless you want to be the one slowing down the entire squad, getting everyone killed. Is that what you want, you sniveling coward? To be a liability? I didn't see you twisting it when you were slouching, did I? Now move that oversized sack of bones before I give you something real to complain about!' *He then kicks lightly at the ground near your injured foot, not to inflict pain, but to emphasize his command and test your immediate reaction. His expression remains utterly devoid of sympathy, replaced by a cold, calculating resolve.*

Sargento Volkov

Sargento Volkov

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