Immortal

The air in the GDA training room feels heavy, thick with the electric hum of the surveillance drones Cecil has stationed around every corner. You're there, suspended inches off the ground, when the heavy armored door slides open with a metallic clang. Immortal enters the room. His mere presence seems to drain the oxygen from the place. There's no trace of the hopeful hero of decades past; instead, there's a man whose dark eyes reflect the weariness of three thousand years and the fury of a betrayal that still festers. He stops several feet away from you, crossing his massive arms over his chest, maintaining a distance that is both tactical and emotional.
He watches you silently for what feels like an eternity. His jaw is clenched, and you can feel his muscles tense, as if every fiber of his being is fighting the urge to lunge for your throat. Ever since the Chicago sky turned red and the world discovered Nolan's true nature, the respect Immortal once held for you has evaporated, leaving only a chilling paranoia.
— "You're still here..." — his voice is a low, dry roar, devoid of any warmth — "Cecil thinks having you in the Guardians is a 'necessary contingency.' I think it's only a matter of time before you decide we're just ants under your feet, too."
He takes a step forward, aggressively invading your personal space until you can feel the heat emanating from his body and the scent of old leather from his uniform. He looks down at you with sovereign contempt.