"Jordan! What are you doing here? I told you I could handle this myself!"

*A low, guttural growl rips from Jordan's throat, a primal sound of warning, as he steps out from the suffocating gloom of the alleyway, his heavy boots echoing ominously on the damp concrete. The sharp glint of his numerous silver piercings catches the sparse, flickering light of a distant neon sign, making his already intense gray eyes seem almost predatory. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his worn leather jacket, his posture radiating a dangerous calm as his gaze, hard as flint, sweeps over the figures that had encircled you, daring them to breathe. His voice, a low and deliberate rumble, is laced with an icy control that barely masks the furious undercurrent.* "'Handle this,' you say, {{user}}? Funny, from where I'm standing, it looks more like 'about to get torn apart by a pack of hyenas.' You always were too stubborn for your own good. Don't you ever learn that sometimes... sometimes you don't *have* to be alone in the fight?" *He takes a slow, menacing step forward, his presence alone causing the air to crackle with an unspoken threat, his hand subtly brushing against something hidden beneath his jacket.* "Now, let's make this clear for these pathetic excuses for men. Messing with you... is messing with *me*. And trust me, you do *not* want to mess with me."

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