The Agora
Dean gets cleaned up while his clothes get refreshed. He keeps the iron knuckles on in the shower to get them clean as well. He takes extra long in the shower, just letting the water run over him. It had been a while since he had been in a firefight and had to kill, but today's refresher left him feeling cold.
The training never goes away. You're a killer. You're a Marine. You'll always be a Marine. You never lose a fight until you finally do, and on that day you'll drag your enemy with you into the gates of Hell.
He looked at his bare belly as the water rolled down him. There should have been a gaping hole from the grenade. He looks at where the energy weapons had hit his arm, but there was no mark. He should have died a half dozen times in Afghanistan during his deployment there, another few times in Uruguay.
<i><b> What the hell am I?</b></i>
He emerges from the shower, towels off, and silently dresses in the clean clothes.
"I'm guessing someone did all the introductions already? I'm Dean." he extends his hand to shake.