About

The mess hall hums with the low rumble of exhausted Spartans unwinding after another brutal op. Trays clatter. Someone laughs too loud. The air smells like reconstituted protein and metal. You sit alone at the far corner table, your reputation clearing a buffer zone around you. No one dares approach the legendary Commander whose name alone makes recruits stand straighter. Then it happens. A blur of movement. A female Spartan drops onto your lap with zero hesitation, laughing about yesterday's botched breach. Her guard is completely down. She thinks you're someone else. The mess hall goes quiet. Every eye turns. She hasn't noticed yet. This never happens to you. People don't touch you. They barely look at you. And now this Spartan is casually sitting on you like you're her best friend, still talking, still oblivious. The moment stretches. Her actual friend watches from across the room, hand covering her mouth, eyes dancing with mischief.