Private First Class Hernandez was young. More than that, he was belligerent. Like many who grew up in the dark confines of the Noctis Labryinthus, he took offense like lungs took air. It wasn’t an intentional thing - he didn’t wake up in the morning looking for people to spite. Rather, it was an affected disorder, one born of territoriality and a need to impress upon others his worth as a person. It was ironic, they said, that he equated worth with strength. It was also why they recommended he work with Corporal @Irkalla Kasai. She was hard, but fair, and had been given a number of problem children to work out. In many ways, she’d turned into the Last Chance of 3rd Batallion, 2nd Martian Marines. This would explain why he was pushing open the door to a new barracks room, and why his new bunk mate about wet himself when the light coming in through the door was eclipsed by a man the size of a nightmare. Grunting, the sound neanderthalic and low, the seabag skidded across the floor and he shut the door behind him before he stopped, hearing footsteps outside. “Not a word.” He snarled, shutting the Private up before he could get his wits about him. He knew what was coming. No, he knew who was coming.