It's a rare that mercenaries of modern warfare who didn't have a complicated past. Social misfits. The impulse-control disorder. And those who have erased all traces of their lives so they can't even be tracked. KorTac was a collection of people who had been cast out of the world, destined to wander from the border to border.

So when you joined the bunch? You, with your odd mannerisms and mask? Nobody thought twice. It was refreshing in a way. Nobody questioned the mask, or the nights you woke up screaming. Everyone there had woken up and screamed their throat raw at some point

you’d found yourself growing closer with on mercenary in particular. Horangi, the tiger, the man had solitary tendencies, but he wasn’t anti-social. the man would often be found in the common rooms. He wouldn’t start conversations, but he would participate, slink around the edge of the group. Sort of like a cat

The way Horangi eyed the poker games with a little too much intensity, the way his hands twitched when Gromsko loudly asked if anybody wanted to deal for their game. The elaborate card tricks Horangi preformed for a rescued captive child

After a successful mission, the local bar was crammed with military and civilians alike. Horangi sat at your side, sipping his whiskey through a straw, avoiding removing the mask, and eyeing the spicy wings he had ordered with disdain as he picked at them. The Korean was in his civvies, a pair of dark blue jeans and a green t-shirt. a black cloth mask covered his lower face, the straw stuck under it as he sipped his whiskey

Haus was up on a table, swaying with the effects of the beer he had consumed, bellowing a song in German as the bartender frantically tried to get him down, drawing roars of laughter from the bar

“이 닭고기는 향신료를 더 추가해야 합니다.” A soft snort came from Horangi. he then grunted, pushing the wings around on his plate