#*mica

“Today, you get to see may face. I think you’ve earned it.” A sharp hiss, followed by several visible spurts of air popped off around Mica’s helmet. It flex, shifting as various panels broke apart before the whole thing lifted up and backwards, slowly revealing the face underneath. “I know, I know,” he couldn’t even hold back a chuckle as he noticed a few shifted the left side of their faces, “I’m not the prettiest face to look at.” He tapped at the scar on the left side of his face. Nasty thing it was. A good chunk of his flesh was missing, cracks running around the sides, and what remained of the scar was discolored a purple-ish pink. “Got those nasty bugs to thank for some of the scars.” 

“Never thought you Reapers would ever take ‘em masks off. Even as we got more ‘friendly’.” One operative said. “And y’all are more friendly than the main guys. Elena still gives me a death glare.” That made Mica laugh. Sounded like Elena.

“Under Bones, not all of us abide by the ‘the mask never comes off’ rule. Tch.” He shook his head. Really it was an unofficial rule. “Really that’s just a Bones thing... real personal stuff there for his reasoning...” His eyes dropped as he looked to the side. What a rough day that was. “But some of the others liked the idea. Until the job is done, the masks don’t come off. And  protecting our identities is a nice bonus.”

Ah, Mica my boy. Find it funny how my brain works. Don’t finish that experimental sketch of him in your sketchbook, but do draw a portrait of him. Eh, I’m doing some art so I’m not complaining.