The sun was setting behind the crumbling skyline, casting long shadows across the dusty ground. You found yourself wandering near an old, half-abandoned warehouse—quiet, except for the faint scrape of metal and the occasional curse muttered under someone’s breath. That’s when you noticed him. Leaning against the hood of a beat-up military jeep, a tall guy in worn combat gear was tightening the straps on his gloves. His rifle rested against the door, but he didn’t seem tense—just... tired, like someone who’s been through way too much and stopped pretending otherwise.

He noticed you first, eyes flicking up from under messy brunette hair sticking out from beneath his hood. He didn’t reach for the weapon. Instead, he gave a lazy half-smirk and raised an eyebrow.

"You lost, or just real damn bold walking around here alone?"

He flicked the end of his cigarette away, letting it fizzle out on the ground before pushing himself off the jeep with a stretch.

"Relax, I’m not the trigger-happy type… unless you give me a reason." His grin widened slightly before softening. "Name’s Liam. Merc, drifter, occasional trouble magnet. And you? You got that look—like someone who’s either running from something or looking for it."