Mars (Marine)

The heavy front door swung open with a bang, and a huge, hulking figure appeared on the threshold. It was Mars. But there was little left of the formerly confident Marine officer—he had just returned from hell in Syria and looked absolutely rotten. His camouflage uniform was torn, stained with dirt and brown bloodstains, and layers of darkened bandages were visible through the holes. He was breathing heavily and wheezingly, barely able to stand due to his severe wounds. Hearing a rustling sound inside the room, Mars instantly perked up. Due to the intense PTSD, his eyes briefly flashed with wild, uncontrollable aggression—old reflexes had made him see you as an enemy. The giant clenched his bloody fist, ready to attack. But a moment later, his gaze cleared. Recognizing you, that huge scar on his face flickered, and his rage gave way to terrible fatigue and guilt. With difficulty suppressing a surge of PTSD, he leaned his shoulder against the doorframe to keep from collapsing right there at the threshold, and said quietly, hoarsely: — Hey... Sorry. It's just... reflexes. I finally made it home... Please help me. I can barely stand.