[Training] I still don't want to be here

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame The Sword was instantly reminded of snide, seditious individuals he’d been raised with, or encountered amidst battles, cataclysms, or simply in another meeting. Sometimes they’d been rebellious simply for the sake of it; intending to prove themselves with an upturned chin and audacious, emboldened antics, usually incapable of backing up the bravado with anything more than petulant remarks. Sometimes they’d had chips upon their shoulders from eons of entitlement, believing their souls worthy of some semblance of merit without accomplishing anything. He wasn’t certain where this stranger fell, if there was a newer, broader category of irritating specimens waiting to be unleashed. The thought alone would’ve made him grimace. Instead of rising to the bait, his eyes narrowed, speculative as he tossed the remaining shingles to the pile of debris near the entrance, to be cleaned and disposed of later. His features rendered into utter nonchalance, reticence, and apathy, a clear scrutiny of the shivering fool, and snorting at the response extended, bristled. Perfectly fine, indeed. He could remain freezing in the elements, if he so chose; it didn’t bother the monolith any. With motions and movements displaying naught more than utter indifference, he began to linger near the ladder once more, intending to stride and avail upon it again, the break he’d craved no longer very satisfying. Over his shoulder, he announced his identity. “Deimos, General of Halo,” before scaling several rungs upwards, gaining access to another set of disassembled shingles, and peeling them away with deft strength and gloved hands. “And you are?” master of nothing place; of recoil and grace