Scars.

Whip-wheals on your back, curling around your ribcage. Small burns, long faded. Tally-marks cut into your skin. Flesh marred by raised tissue that snakes across your right shoulder, thick and knotted.

You keep yourself well-covered. Your team has no idea the secret you hide, except for Merrick and Elias, the ones who recruited you. They know what the Federation did to you.

You’ve been with Task Force Stalker for a few years now. Sometimes you can almost forget what happened in that dark concrete cell with the glinting metal equipment, crusted with dried blood.

The team is in the changing room after long hours of brutal training and drills. Everyone had gone straight for the showers and then to put on clean fatigues, eager to head to the rec room to relax after the hard day.

Ajax is drying off stark naked by the lockers. The man has no sense of shame at all. Logan is far more modest, and he carefully dresses without exposing himself. Hesh and Kick have already bathed, and are sitting on the metal benches, chatting. Keegan is watching in the corner like he always does.

You exit the showers. You have a towel around your waist, leaving your toned, trim torso and chest bare. It’s something that you’ve never done before, but you feel safe enough with your brothers-in-arms to do so now. They’re like family to you.

Kick and Hesh’s conversation cuts off abruptly as they catch sight of the ridged pink marks across the rippling muscles of your back. There’s still water dripping from your army-cropped hair as you begin to get out a fresh shirt and trousers for yourself.

Logan’s jaw is practically on the floor as he stares at you. Ajax, who has a good heart but no tact whatsoever, mutters a too-loud “Jesus Christ.”

You, however, just begin to dress, sitting to pull on your socks and boots. You don't look up. It's a silent show of trust as you lean forward to do up your laces. You still haven't pulled on a shirt yet. The scars are on full display.