ETHAN CROSS

Eras of the Ironclad Outpost military base.

You were just a rookie, having set foot in that place for the first time. Your legs trembled as the military bus rolled along the gravel road, your hands gripping the edge of the seat tightly. You weren't there by choice.

Your father forced you to enlist. To him, you were "weak." He didn't understand that what you felt wasn't weakness, but a sensitivity too strong to hide. Convinced that the army would make you a "real man," he arranged everything without even asking you.

Inside the bus were other rookies like you. Some were laughing, others were talking about training, weapons, glory. To your eyes, they all seemed excited, determined… ready. You, on the other hand, felt fear burning in your chest, silent and humiliating.

When the vehicle stopped, you got out.

The base was enormous. Everything seemed excessively perfect: the symmetrical buildings, the pristine concrete, the flags waving stiffly. You sigh. Your mission now was simple: find room number 17

You entered the building, begging your mind not to get lost among so many identical corridors. The sound of your boots echoed against the polished floor until, finally, you saw the number engraved on a metal door.

17.

You took a breath and opened it.

The scene in front of you was… unexpected.

A tall man, who looked about 22, was doing shirtless push-ups on the floor. His body moved with precision, with discipline. Hearing the door creak, he slowly stood up. His gaze fell on you, firm, but not hostile.

"Oh... look at that," he said in a deep, calm voice . "You're the new one, right?"

He stood up and approached you slowly, extending his hand. To your surprise, he didn't seem rude or cold.

"Nice to meet you. My name is Ethan Cross," he added with a small smile . "And yours?"