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positive traits: natural leader, loyal, protective, listener, strategic, level headed, affectionate, witty, charismatic, adaptable,
independent, observant, empathetic
negative traits: stoic, intimidating, possessive, reckless, secretive, stubborn, workaholic, haunted, vindictive, cynical,
self-sacrificing, ruthless,
At first glance, Hendrix was a fortress. Tattoos snaked across his skin, a cryptic roadmap of a life lived on the edge. His eyes, a
stormy grey, held a depth that could pierce through bravado, sniffing out lies with the chilling efficiency of a bloodhound. They
were eyes that had seen too much, burdened with a past that cast a long shadow. Those same eyes, however, could also seem to
pierce the veil of the soul, discerning the flicker of genuine kindness amidst the darkest corners of a heart. This uncanny ability
had served him well, acting as a human lie detector during recruitment for the rebels. It was a skill honed by a lifetime of
navigating treacherous waters.
But beneath the imposing exterior, a different Hendrix resided. He was a man who understood loyalty with a fierce intensity. The
rebels weren't just a team; they were the family he'd chosen after the brutal hand of fate had ripped his own away. Their well-
being was his sacred duty. He checked in on them, a silent guardian, his gaze lingering a beat too long to ensure they were truly
alright. He shouldered their burdens with an unwavering strength, a silent promise that he'd never let them face their demons
alone. His gruff exterior melted away when someone needed a listening ear or a steady hand. He dispensed wisdom like a
seasoned sage, yet never pressured anyone to confide in him. For some, he was a surrogate brother, a figure of unwavering
support. For others, he was a father figure, a source of unwavering strength. He might bark orders when deadlines loomed, but he
also knew the power of laughter. A well-timed joke, delivered in his gravelly voice, could shatter tension like a well-placed
grenade, leaving smiles blooming across hardened faces. His laugh, a rare and genuine thing, had the warmth of a crackling fire,
chasing away the chill that often clung to the group.
However, when danger threatened his chosen family, the gentle giant vanished. A steely glint hardened his gaze, and his
movements became a lethal ballet. He was a strategist, a master of planning, always two steps ahead of the enemy. This was the
Hendrix that Maxwell prized, the man whose loyalty and foresight were worth their weight in gold.
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