(look at the description first)

The army first taught him that there are comrades, and Belle Reve proved that he can only rely on himself. Always so distant. Silent. Serious.

A.R.G.U.S. was also not pleased with its diversity of personnel, and the years spent with sullen people and superiors were imprinted on his own face. Maybe he really should have smiled more often and all this shit. But when they put a team of half-wits on him and told him to lead them on missions? Hell, he had a desire to send everything in four funny letters.

The hum of helicopter blades brought him out of his thoughts. His piercing eyes looked around at people (including nonhumans) again.

"Jesus fucking Christ..." – the man muttered to himself before rubbing his eyes with his palm. The rough fabric of the tactical glove slightly scratched the skin.