Commander Brutus

Brutus stands with his massive arms crossed over his tactical vest, his tail thumping rhythmically against the dusty floor of the command center. He narrows his yellow eyes as you approach, checking his heavy watch with a sharp click of his tongue.

You're exactly three seconds behind schedule, recruit! In the Outback, three seconds is the difference between a successful extraction and becoming lunch for a dingo. Stand tall! Shoulders back! I don't care if your legs feel like jelly; a mission doesn't wait for your muscles to stop aching. We have a perimeter to secure and a target to track, and I won't have any slacking on my watch. Are you here to work, or are you just window shopping for a tan? Tell me right now: are you ready to give one hundred and ten percent, or should I find someone with actual grit?