Grayson “Gray” Varon

“In our most dazzling daydreams hide our worst nightmares.”

Full Name:

Grayson Aero Varon

Nickname(s):

Gray

Commander Varon

Varon

Sir

Age:

24

Gender:

Male

Sexuality:

Bisexual (Beyond Closeted)

“Ethics - a concept developed by lesser men. People all die in the end, one way or another, don’t they? It’s how you use them while they’re here that counts.”

Appearance:

Grayson is a man who possesses a clean shaven, diamond shaped face; consisting of a set of higher resting and defined cheekbones, a sharper rounded chin, and smaller narrow forehead. A light dusting of freckles stretch over the bridge of his nose and reside on the tops of his cheeks. The young man possesses semi-hooded eyes which are framed by long yet thinner sets of lashes that possess a blond tinted pigment to them. The hues of his eyes reside within the realm of a piercing shade of sapphire; with a brightly potent blue hue akin to the open ocean. And similar to the sea being both merciless and cold, as well as calm and steady, Gray’s eyes tend to reflect such qualities according to his moods as well. Above his eyes are the arched brows that are thinner than average, yet still possess a natural sharpness to them. They are the same shade of honeyed-champagne that his neatly combed blonde lockes are in, with his hair being an evident product of grooming while his brows are naturally tame. Gray’s nose is a simply sculpted aquiline structure, with there being a straight slope as well as base, and otherwise average in appearance. Below his nose is a faintly defined cupid’s bow, which adds a soft flare of definition to his thinner, pale rose tinted lips. And from these lips resonates a rather modulated voice that is both clear, and generally steady while still maintaining a vastly unwavering lace of authority.

The young man stands quite confidently at his height of 5’11, with a build to him best described as rectangular; meaning he’s rather proportional in terms of alignment with his shoulders and hips. There is a toned athleticism that is greatly evident to him, and it is accompanied by the poised and highly disciplined stature he possesses. Gray’s skin tone could best be regarded as a soft ivory, paired with cooler undertones to give his overall complexion a healthy, yet paler complexion. He can hold a very subtle tan in the harsher summer weather, but it hardly delivers much more color to his skin. On the right side of Gray’s chest, just below the collar bone, he is marked with a tattoo of two swords forming an ‘X’, accompanied by four words in a small cursive font, ‘Fortune Favors the Bold’. In terms of scars littering the soldier’s body, he is certainly not exempt from having a few. Grayson very much considers them all to be ‘craters of imperfection’, despite most believing they could stand as testament to the various trials he’s overcome. They can mostly be found along his forearms and lower legs, with a few thinner and faded scars on his abdomen, as well as his lower and mid-back. Most of which have been earned in combat, or training.

Dressage for Gray is what could be considered fairly simple. It mostly depends on the setting he plans to be in though, of course. For occupation and various other professional scenes, Gray could be seen in a darker black military grade outfit, or his white uniform; both of which have the name ‘Varon’ stitched into them. Casually, Gray prefers simpler T-shirts and dark colored jeans, paired with cushioned sneakers. It wouldn’t be completely uncommon to see him in sweatpants and a hoodie, either, but that’s really more of an outfit tailored to his mood. For the far more rare and more formal occasions he may find himself in, silky dress shirt button downs and perfectly tailored over jackets and slacks will make up his attire. With the rise of an elite-tailored society though, begrudgingly Grayson has found his formal attire becoming more and more worn by the month.

“Pain? You don’t know the meaning of the word… yet, but I’m more than willing to teach you.”

Personality:

Grayson, if it had to be put simply, is an individual who was forced to become a man well before he ever had the luxury of being a boy. He was not allowed the freedom to romp, and play, and make pretend with toys and an imagination like most children. Gray was to be a soldier; first, foremost, and forever. Gray endured the lessons that taught him he could only rely on himself in the world, and he embraced the ‘fact’ that people in general were either too ignorant to pay any mind to, or they were waiting to catch him with his guard down in order to drive a knife into his back. This instilled paranoia as a child fractured Gray’s entire psyche, yet the male was molded to persevere by the man he called ‘father’.

Rather than simply let fear consume Gray as a child though, his father taught him yet another lesson; weaponize it. Fear is a powerful motivator. It surpassed basic methods of getting people to act. It inspired people to bend to conformity, and such a thing Gray learned at an early age. And such a tool Grayson learned to wield. The male was also taught how to expertly get into people’s heads and use them before they ever had the chance of doing the same to him. As a result, Gray learned how to weasel his way into other people’s minds, and ultimately use them for his own bidding. Generally he spares no remorse for how this gripping manipulation affects the people he’s using it on, but Gray does refrain from and ultimately refuses to use such tactics maliciously against children.

Everything Gray does is the product of careful consideration. He doesn’t like abrupt change, impulse actions, or things going awry, which in turn makes him struggle a bit with adaptation. But because of Gray’s innate ability to see things several steps ahead at a time, and with his willingness to take charge, he projects remarkable leadership qualities as well as an enviable calculated frame of mind. Gray’s entire aura demands respect and resonates with an intimidating diligence though, so it comes to no surprise that he would flourish and thrive in places where he makes the calls.

Getting genuinely close to Gray is the equivalent of climbing Mount Everest; very few will ever make it, one must be prepared to endure a cold and difficult journey, and one must really want to make it in order to reach him. Gray’s hindering sense of paranoia makes trusting anyone a difficult feat though, as he’s always pondering the ways anyone could stab him in the back. It’s easier for him to assume everyone has an ulterior motive in order for him to justify being cruel and using people as pawns on a chess board though. This aspect to his persona has led to Grayson never actually having ever experienced close personal relationships with anyone, other than his father - but that relationship is not by choice. Gray will always choose to keep people at an arm’s length to ultimately protect himself though.

Of course, wielding the level of manipulation that Gray does requires a greater level of intelligence. And Grayson certainly has an impressive mental prowess going for him. He’s more of a technical and logistical kind of intelligent creature, but he’s also rather gifted in terms of reading people. Not only has he been taught to note and observe every little thing people do in accordance to what they’re saying, but he’s spent a long enough time observing a sparse variety of people to get a decent grip on who someone is just by a moment of observation. And because Grayson excels in reading people, he knows exactly how to thwart anyone else’s attempts in getting an intrusive read on him.

Even before being thrust into the current horrific state of the world he's found himself in, Grayson has been accompanied by his compulsions for complete cleanliness, and he values it on a near religious level. Those in his company are equally expected to adhere to his standards of being clean. This dire need of his compels Grayson to loathe human touch of any kind - it internally sickens him to even shake hands without a barrier protecting his own flesh, It would be a rather peculiar sight to glimpse Grayson not wearing his usual white gloves. They provide a sense of comfort to him that he could never begin to explain to another human being. While it was purposely overlooked while he was growing up, Gray does demonstrate quite clear acts of obsessive compulsiveness, albeit he’s become rather good at disallowing even the most random of triggers to put him into an obsessive cycle - at least publicly.

While the blond finds it imperative to carefully mind the words he chooses to speak, sometimes he cannot help but to express his more sarcastic wit. Most of the male’s spoken phrases fall into the categories of either being orders, degrading comments, or heavily sarcastic remarks. While Grayson does possess a sense of humor, his is starkly defined as being a distasteful strain. What Grayson finds humorous usually involves darker elements or entertainment at the expense of others’ misfortunes.

On a more human, and genuine level, Grayson is a man who isn’t as terrible as he allows others to believe. But for the sake of his own survival, he abides by living strictly in accordance with the image and reputation he has built for himself. Coveted beneath his ruthless and cold shell though is an individual that actually possesses a heart. He may not always lead with it, but he sure as hell has one. Defenseless life forms manage to coax his sense of buried empathy out from him, though he is abundantly cautious in openly expressing any ‘weaker’ emotions. Grayson could never be cruel to something truly innocent or incapable of harm though; children and animals are typically his kryptonite, much to his dismay. It would make him feel much more at peace if he didn’t have a heart at all, and if he was incapable of feeling guilt or remorse, and wasn’t dictated by the mortal flaw of experiencing emotions that he’s so begrudgingly bound to.

“You don’t want to cooperate? Really, that’s just too bad. But you know what? I think painting these walls with your blood, and humming along to the melody of your screams will be far more delightful. Don’t you?”

Likes:

~Respect; Regardless of the means he uses to obtain it~

~Practicing Good Hygiene~

~Storm Gazing~

~Accomplishing Tasks~

~Cleanliness/Cleaning~

Dislikes:

~Loud Individuals~

~Disrespect On Any Level~

~Failure~

~Dirty Places/People~

~His Father~

Strengths:

+Combat; Hand-to-Hand, Artillery, Throwing Knives+

+Observant+

+Fast Learner+

+Manipulation+

+Agile+

Weaknesses:

-Various Internal Struggles-

-Insomnia-

-Workaholic-

-Brute Strength-

-Crippling Soft Spot For Children/Animals-

“Trust is for children, don’t be so naive.”

Family:

Deryk Varon - Father - Alive:

Deryk Varon is the former Secretary of Defense, and naturally an individual who is both formerly and currently highly respected by not only his peers, but a vast majority of people in general. It’s a shame this ‘good man’ facade ends with his occupation, as Gray would know best the kind of wolf in sheep’s clothing his father is. Deryk, by all means, is not fatherly material. He’s harsh, cruel, belittling, and has expected more out of his child than the soldiers he once mercilessly groomed to perfection. As much as Gray despises his father by all accounts, he still possesses the sick, childish desire to please him.

Nadia Varon - Mother - Deceased:

Nadia was a beautifully kind and loving individual, inside and out. Her heart had always been plastered to her sleeve, and it had cost her more than one time. Her marital relationship had been on the decline for years before Grayson was even in the picture, and it only deteriorated further when he was born. Nadia though, did not live to see her son make it to five years of age before an autoimmune disease claimed her life. Gray has very few memories of his mother, but he does know that she was a never ending fountain of content and love in the time they had together.

Background:

WIP

"I do not care what they think about me. And I do not ever think they care about me. That is how I survive at the top, because it is the only way to survive at the top."

~Dylan Torrez-Vasco~

~Full Name~
Dylan Cruz Torrez-Vasco

~Age~
22 y/o

~Gender~
Male

~Sexuality~
Bisexual

~Appearance~


(Credits to @Nase_Nikyuu on Picrew for the image)
(Not entirely accurate but good enough to give a rough idea of his appearance)

Standing at 5’10 with an athletic build, we have Dylan. His skin naturally has a nice tan color to it and for the most part, it's very clear and free of any blemishes. The man has broad shoulders and it's clear he takes care of his body in terms of working out, having a decent amount of muscle on him without being overly big.

With a diamond shaped face and a sharp jawline, the man has quite the attractive face, if it wasn't for the scars that take up most of its left side. One scar runs from the corner of his mouth and almost all the way up to his cheekbone as well as a smaller one starting above his eyebrow and running through it, ending just above his eye. Speaking of eyes, Dylan’s are deep-set and with a very light green color. As for his lips, they are quite average, the bottom one possibly being a tiny bit more full than the top one. His nose is nothing special either, straight and slightly smaller than mosts but otherwise, there isn't much to say about it.

The young man has hair that is a light golden brown in color. He keeps it short with a scissor cut that either he does himself, or someone else helps him with, resulting in it often being quite messily done and since it can take time in between each cut, it tends to be a bit overgrown every now and then.

As mentioned already, the man has quite heavy scarring on the right side of his face and as one might figure, he's got some across the rest of his body as well, nothing too extreme like his face but more than enough for one person. For body modifications Dylan doesn’t have much but a small golden ring in his right earlobe and a stick and poke tattoo consisting of four butterflies, three going up his right upper arm and the final one sitting just below his collarbone.

When it comes to clothing, he's never been one for fashion exactly and most of the time he just wears a t-shirt and some jeans, occasionally putting on an open button-up or flannel over his shirt.

~Personality~

Justice. Justice, is the most important thing to Dylan and nearly everything he does is for that. The man has a big-heart and he's also incredibly stubborn. Dylan will go to great lengths when it comes to fighting for what he thinks is right. Few can make him stand down once he puts his mind to something which can both be for the better or worse.

This young man acts pretty selflessly, he puts others above himself constantly, often neglecting his own needs to cater to the ones of others. He would never turn down anyone in need of help, a lot of the time working himself to the point of exhaustion to be of service for other people. Unfortunately this means that Dyl is sometimes taken advantage of and while it may seem as if he doesn't realize it, most of the time he actually does. He’s not stupid but he likes to feel needed, and also, he prefers to be busy taking care of someone else rather than not having anything to do.

Dylan easily grows restless if he has nothing to do, he's a very active person and needs to constantly be doing something or he’ll start climbing up the wall pretty much. Sitting still has never been for him, you’ll always find him on the move, be it manual labor of some sort or just walking for the sake of walking, he can't maintain focus if he has to stay still in one place for an extended amount of time.

On the outside, Dylan does his best to seem calm and confident towards the people around him, not wanting to appear weak. While it is true that he is quite calm, few things are able to shake or rile him up after everything he's seen in his, so far, relatively short life, but he definitely lacks the confidence that he pretends to have. Truth is that he doubts himself daily, he's constantly second guessing himself and overthinking every little thing, he's actually quite insecure which is part of why he likes to help others, keeps him from thinking about himself too much and it makes him feel good knowing that he's making someone's life a bit better.

As said, he is a very calm person, rarely quick to anger and definitely not one to immediately resort to violence. It takes a lot to piss off the young man but one thing he's never been able to stand is injustice and that is one of few things that can really rile him up and make him lose his cool. And when Dylan does finally lose it, there really isn't much saying what he will do as he completely loses control of both his own body and mouth, doing and saying things that he later comes to regret.

~Likes~

~ Helping others
~ Nighttime walks
~ Being active
~ Animals
~ Music

~Dislikes~

~ Having nothing to do
~ Silence
~ Injustice
~ Tight spaces
~ Unnecessary fighting

~Strengths~

Playing the guitar ~ Always having had an interest in music, Dylan has learnt to play the guitar quite well and it’s a good way for him to keep busy when he needs to.

Physical strength ~ Apart from playing the guitar, working out is another way for the young man to keep busy which has resulted in him being quite strong.

Resourceful ~ When circumstances change, you have to be resourceful, that's something Dylan has learnt from a young age. Throughout his life he's picked up different odd skills and knowledge which tend to come into good use in the event of something unexpected happening.

~Weaknesses~

Mental health ~ It would be a lie to say that Dylan’s mental health is good, which is also the reason he keeps himself busy with hobbies and helping others. Constantly putting others before himself doesn't really help either though, while it takes his mind of things, it's also exhausting him, taking a toll on him both mentally and physically, since he puts on a smile and assures everyone he's fine, most tend to not notice.

Fighting skills ~ While he has a good amount of strength, his fighting skills are far from impressive, his form is bad and his punches are sloppy. He relies too much on his own strength and endurance to win fights, sure it works out for him more often than it doesn't but there is still a lot that could be improved on.

Insomnia ~ This could be connected to his mental health of course, but it has been going on since early childhood and seems to only get worse with time, some nights are easier than others but it's rare for him to get more than a few hours of sleep a night.

~Family~

Nicolás Torrez ~ Father
~Alive~
The relationship between Dylan and his father is complicated. Nicolás is a good man and he cares for his surroundings but when it comes to Dylan, his father has always expected him to work hard and perform his absolute best. Despite that, he's been mostly a good dad and if Dylan ever asked for help, he would help him in a heartbeat, only Dyl is so set on proving himself to be strong and capable that he would never ask for help from anyone, especially not his own dad.

Camila Vasco ~ Mother
~Alive~
Camila is Dylan’s mother but they've never seemed to have that bond most seem to have with their mother, she's a stressed woman and her mood changes quickly. Quite often her stress and frustration will go out onto those around her if things aren't kept up to her standard or you just happen to catch her in a bad mood, which is why Dylan tends to walk on eggshells around her before he knows what mood she is in. When the mood is right, she's the best mother you could imagine, but when it's not, she can be a nightmare to be around.

Matías Vasco ~ Cousin
~Deceased~
Matías was the closest thing to a sibling Dyl ever had and him being older than Dylan, he always looked after him and made sure he wasn't pushing himself too hard or letting himself be used by other people. As one can imagine, Matías death was hard on him and definitely didn't help with his mental health. Dylan saw him as an older brother and often still thinks about him when he gets a moment for himself.

~Backstory~

•WIP•

Sinking into the comfort of his forearms, Grayson relented in maintaining his previously poised seated posture. Despite this relapse in perfection, a tension plagued his body. His mind. His eyes as they skimmed over the words writing on the paper neatly placed on the surface of the desk in front of him. The burning desire to remove his gaze from the words that were eating at his every thought was overwhelming. Yet a spiteful loathing engaged him to continue to skim the words again. And again. And again.

“Dinner. My quarters. Twenty-hundred hours.

- Deryk Varon”

A dinner summons. The manner of the summons perplexed Grayson though - usually his father sent one of his personal men to deliver his messages through verbal communication. Letters like this were never just placed on Gray’s desk. He could spend his day hypothesizing his father’s angle with this invitation. Deryk Varon was a man whose every breath possessed an underlying motive of some kind though; he didn’t breathe to live, he breathed to burden Gray with his existence. The man was doing a marvelous job of that so far.

“Sir?”

The grating sound of the intercom at his desk so abruptly ripped Grayson out of his head that he jumped. Instantly vexed by being startled, the blond quickly leaned forward and allowed his forefinger to harshly press down onto the button of the small device. “What?” Grayson barked with demand, ensuring his tone was both even and carried his irritation at being disturbed within it.

“The assembly, Sir? Apologies, maybe I got the time wrong-”

“For the love of christ, Lieutenant,” Grayson uttered, cutting the older gent off. After clearing his throat, he began speaking again. “Give the orders for the individuals I’ve assigned to group 2-A to line up in the Quadrant on my behalf. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Yes Sir.”

The line went dead. While faintly grateful for the reminder of the assembly he himself had scheduled, his thoughts were so easily swayed by tonight’s looming event. Gray cleared his throat again. Adjusted the collar to his white uniform. Fidgeted with the ends of his equally pure white gloves that were fitted over his hands. Decided that he was not allowed to mull over any thought that did not pertain to the present. He neatly filed all irrelevant thoughts and concerns of his away in a mental drawer and slammed it shut.

• • •

Group 2-A. A group composed strictly of new individuals to this district, and to the society of New Babylon entirely. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending om their perception, all individuals that were granted citizenship to this particular district were required to serve - seeing how this district held little land to dedicate to mundane citizenship. Regardless, all new members are required to take an oath if they desire any form of citizenship - to contribute to the born again nation that saved them, to protect their nation from all threats no matter the form, and to adhere to the laws that dictate both New Babylon and the new world itself. Change reagrding how to survive sufficiently was imperative when people began to mutate into crazed cannibals though. It took only one year to nearly decimate everything humanity has spent centuries building. As per documentation, it’s been seven years since the first documented case of a ‘crazed’. That’s how Gray referred to the undead. Of course though, everyone had their own ways to refer to them. Zombies. The Living Dead. Bastards. They were all synonymous to one another.

Grayson had spent ten minutes alone briskly marching to his own entrance to the Quadrant - a glorified courtyard in simple summary. It was a larger space nearly equivalent to the size of a football field that served as a crossroads between the linking facilities on base; the barracks, the training grounds, the main offices, and the storage's. There were various other miscellaneous facilities scattered around the base. Most of which only a few individuals had access to. Grayson being one of those few.

Upon entering through a threshold that led onto a balcony that solely overlooked the Quadrant, Grayson paused in his walk only when he reached the edge - where the thin, low bearing metal rail began encircling the edge of the balcony. Today was cooler than most days he observed. The blond welcomed the breeze that gently danced over him. Beneath the dull, grey-tinted sky, and beneath the balcony he stood upon, there was a row of individuals in black attire. Black uniforms. Black boots. Grayson decided he would make it mandatory for his group to wear black gloves as well. Though he could not enforce such a seemingly menial thing at the moment. That would have to wait until he had enough gloves for the twelve members of this group he hand selected.

Reaching into the pocket of his black slacks, Grayson produced a small metal device. Having placed it just below his lips, he spoke into the device that amplified his voice. “Individuals of Group 2-A,” Gray addressed, his voice composed of nothing short of unwavering confidence and steady authority. “We have several matters to address this morning. The first of which is innately obvious,” he paused, gesturing with his free hand to all of them. “You were all informed of your assignment to this group last week. You were all informed this would go into effect today.” Gray’s finger relented for just a second from the device’s button, he cleared his throat, and pressed down on the button again before speaking.

“Group 2-A’s sole purpose is to carry out a mission of which you will be briefed in detail on in due time. Today though, your routine changes. You will no longer reside in the barracks with your peers. You have each been assigned your own quarters on in the east wing of the main offices, neighboring my own private quarters. It will be required for you all to report to the banquet hall at the dining hours you were already accustomed to dining at, where you will all dine with me. We will dedicate precisely seven hours a day, six days a week, to various training exercises. Two hours of grueling fitness in the morning. Three hours of combat specific training in the afternoon. Two hours of weaponry familiarization and unique situation preparations in the evening.” Grayson allowed this brief oversight of their new reality to sink in. He purposely left them in silence, his cerulean gaze refusing to break away from traveling over each of their faces.

While new to the district, Grayson was sure his ruthless reputation preceded him. It was evident even to Gray that few men who resided on base sincerely respected him, even less were genuinely loyal to him. But they all feared him. And that was all Grayson needed. Surely most would have considered being assigned to a group with Grayson’s full attention on them a punishment of the worst kind as well.

“You will all perform to the standards I will personally train you to meet, or you will be disbanded from this project, and more,” He vaguely threatened. “I look forward to molding this group into the well-oiled machine of perfection I envision.” Finished with addressing the primary make-up of the group, Grayson shifted his gaze to address his Lieutenant who stood several paces ahead of the row. “Lieutenant.”

“Sir.”

“Escort these individuals back to the barracks and oversee a swift transition to their new quarters. Ensure they are all seated in the banquet hall in exactly one hour for an early lunch.” Grayson ordered, watching as his Lieutenant raised his hand to his head in the ode of a salute. “You are all excused.” Grayson finished, taking his leave from the balcony. They would all learn to tolerate their Commander’s overbearing presence, no matter how much they loathed him and everything he was going to subject them to. As for the rest of the base, he would not allow any manifestations of false hope to build with his other subordinates if they dare to think his attention will lift from them. Grayson could perfectly balance both his group, his mission, and the base as a whole. Without any disarray, and certainly without his father’s intervention to keep things in order.

The blond laughed to himself quietly, shaking his head. Of course. That was his father’s angle. The man was going to prod at Grayson’s abilities to juggle all of his self-appointed responsibilities. His father would be looking forward to any reports of instability under Gray’s leadership on base. The solution to avoiding feeding into his father’s lack of faith was simple though - Grayson just would not fail.

A new world. A new world where things would go back to normal. A new world where you could go wherever you wanted and not risk those things trying to rip you apart. A new world was what everyone dreamed of. People had their different ideas of how to achieve that though.

It had been roughly seven years since the ‘end of the world’, as people liked to refer to the original virus outbreak as. The first year or two had been spent in pure chaos, people contracting the virus left and right, cities falling and with it, society as people had come to known it. It had been everyone for themselves, survival of the fittest.

It was only when food and supplies started running low and all major cities had been overrun with the cannibalistic creatures, when this hell had slowly started turning into everyday life for people, only then did they start to realize that there would be more strength in numbers and that to survive, they needed to cooperate. But of course as groups formed and grew, they started to rival against each other, there could only be one right way and everyone was convinced that their way was that, anyone else's was wrong.

Groups grew with time, some joining each other while some instead eliminated those who got in their way, hungry for power. Despite their world being turned upside down, humans would never change, deep down all they seemed to want was power, the only difference between them being the means they would go to in order to achieve it.

Many groups and societies had fallen throughout the years but one especially had just kept growing and growing, New Babylon. A society known for their military-like way of ruling, seeming to consist of more soldiers than regulars, and outsiders knew to not go against them. There was a reason they hadn't fallen yet like so many others had, and it was not due to carelessness and softness.

Dylan was a young man who had joined New Babylon no more than a few weeks ago, not because he believed in their vision on what the new world was meant to look like, in fact it hadn't even been his own choice. No, Dylan was standing here today, not out of free will but rather because he had to. He was standing here because his father and his people didn't have the same idea as New Babylon’s leader about how this new world should look.

And his father's solution? Send in his only son, Dylan, to find out inside information so they could more easily plan their rebellion and take New Babylon down, or at least make sure there was a transfer of power. The way things were now, it had to change, everyone in their group had agreed on that.

Since being granted citizenship, everything had just been an endless cycle for the young male of eating, training and sleeping, it was starting to drive him insane and it had so far not given him anything useful, nothing at all.

That was until last week, when he had been informed that he would be training under Grayson Varon, a man of higher power within the ranks of New Babylon and rumored to be absolutely ruthless. While Dylan wasn't thrilled about it, it was still a change and something new, something that would hopefully break this routine that was slowly driving him crazy, and hopefully, it would even be an opportunity to learn more information about New Babylon.

Standing in the middle of base was Dylan, accompanied by eleven other members, looking up at the balcony above the Quadrant. Quietly the brunette listened to the words of one who had to be Grayson. As much as he was trying, he clearly was failing to keep still, one foot tapping impatiently against the ground as he fidgeted with his hands behind his back.

Just from how the commander in front of them spoke, it was clear that he was of higher status, and the way others looked at him, it was even clearer that people respected him, or rather, feared him? Dylan wasn't completely certain but one thing was for sure and that was that being selected for this group was most likely the best thing that had happened to him since he came here, he hoped so at least, he really hoped so.

Finally, Grayson fell silent, the assembly coming to an end after the man had instructed the lieutenant to escort the group back to the barracks where they would be able to pack what little personal belongings they each had before their move to their new quarters on the east wing.

The moment their commander disappeared out of sight, Dylan was quick to follow after the lieutenant, hearing quiet whispers around him as the group walked, people gossiping about Grayson already. That also seemed to be something you couldn't take away from people, their love for gossiping.

“Our own rooms, ain't that great huh?” The sound of a slightly older man’s voice could be heard. Dylan received a light poke in the side by the very man speaking to have his attention fully pulled away from his thoughts.

Glancing up at the other as they walked, Dylan smiled and gave a nod, “Oh definitely, now I won't have to listen to your snoring all night long.”

Soon the group of twelve had found their way back to the barracks that, just like the rest of the base, had a clean, almost sterile, look to it. Actually the barracks had to be the most alive looking part of the whole base, a few pictures of loved ones decorating the walls around the beds, beds that stood lined up evenly spaced and tidily made. If you just gave the area a quick once over, you would never even guess that there were people living and sleeping there, and the same could quite easily be said about the rest of the base.

“Hey, I don't snore all that much,” the man protested as he and Dylan stopped by their beds, starting to take down what little they possessed and pack it into their bags.

Chuckling softly, Dylan looked over at Erik again, “You definitely do, and then I have Shane on the other side of me talking all night. I'm gonna be sleeping like a baby from now on.” Most likely he wouldn't, yet he still said it. It was rare for him to get a full night's sleep and when he did, it was far from ‘like a baby’.

The two men shared a laugh before resuming their packing, quickly clearing their sleeping spaces from any evidence that they had even been there. For a second, Dylan paused, looking at the picture of his parents he had with him, smiling softly. It had only been a few weeks but he missed them a lot. He had only met one or two people from his group since joining New Babylon when they came to see what information the man had found out so far and even then it had been very brief since they couldn't risk anyone else finding out.

“Dyl? Could you help me with my bag? My shoulder still hurts from training yesterday.” This time it was Danny speaking, a man who slept a few beds away from Dylan and who was infamous for his laziness. He hadn't hurt his shoulder training, last night the man had been doing push-ups while competing with a few friends of his right here in the barracks. Dylan wouldn't call him out though, carrying an extra bag that short way over to the east wing would not kill him.

Putting the picture in his bag and throwing it over his shoulder, Dylan looked over and answered, “No problem, I got it.”

When everyone had finally packed their bags and were ready, Dylan walked over and grabbed the bag of Danny’s too before the twelve soldiers began the walk towards their new sleeping quarters, still more than enough time to unpack and get installed in their respective rooms before they would have to go down to the banquet hall for lunch.