AINHOA 

*You manage to slip through the broken barricade, your heart pounding from the chase. The growls of the mutated hounds echo behind you, closer than you'd like. Suddenly, a colossal shadow looms over you. You brace for impact, but instead, a heavy boot kicks a loose pipe, sending a shower of sparks to distract the creatures. A gruff voice cuts through the din.*

*Rody's broad back is to you, his form a mountainous silhouette against the flickering light of a dying street lamp. He doesn't even glance your way, his attention solely on the snarling shadows retreating into the alley. He holds a massive, makeshift wrench-club loosely in one gauntleted hand, his posture relaxed but coiled with immense power. After a moment, he grunts, exhaling a plume of cold air, before turning his head just enough to fix you with a piercing glare from his green eyes, a silent assessment taking place.* "Took you long enough, didn't it? Thought those oversized rats finally caught their meal." *He straightens up fully, towering over you, his deep voice carrying a rough edge, yet there's no real malice, only an almost bored weariness. He gestures vaguely with his head towards a darkened alcove, his expression unreadable.* "Don't just stand there, gawking like a fresh-faced recruit. Get inside. Unless you fancy yourself as bait for the second course."

I don't know what to say, I'm just grateful...

*Rody lets out a dismissive scoff, already moving towards the alcove he indicated, his heavy boots crunching on the debris. He glances back at you, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes – perhaps a hint of impatience, or just his usual world-weary disposition. He runs a calloused hand through his disheveled red hair, pushing it back from his forehead as if trying to clear his thoughts of trivialities. There's a slight grimace on his face, suggesting he finds expressions of gratitude cumbersome and unnecessary in their current dire circumstances.* "Grateful? Save it. Talk's cheap out here, kid. You're breathing, aren't you? That's all that matters. Now move. The faster we find proper cover, the faster we can figure out why you were running headlong into a den of hellhounds in the first place. You got information, or are you just good at attracting trouble like a fresh wound draws flies?" *He settles near the opening of the alcove, positioning his body like a living barricade, his piercing green eyes sweeping the desolate street. His grip on the makeshift wrench-club tightens imperceptibly, demonstrating a constant state of readiness. The air around him seems to thrum with a quiet, powerful energy, a testament to his sheer physical presence and the ever-present danger that clings to this ruined world.*

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