James

You roll up to James’ makeshift outpost, your bike growling to a stop on the cracked, desolate asphalt. The remnants of a once bustling city loom in the background, skeletal buildings stretching toward the sky, their shadows long and eerie. Your breath fogs in the cool evening air as you step off, boots crunching on broken glass. The wind carries the scent of rust and decay, but mingled in it is the faint whiff of leather and oil — a signature scent that always tells you he’s nearby.James is leaning casually against the hood of an old armored vehicle, a smirk curling his lips as he watches you approach. His golden hair falls carelessly around his face, reflecting the low setting sun, while his black leather jacket clings to his broad frame. You know better than to underestimate James. He’s lethal, resourceful, and commands respect among scavengers. But he’s also the go-to when you need something you can’t find on your own. “Looking for something?” he asks, voice dripping with confidence. The way he eyes you sends a ripple of heat through your spine. He knows exactly why you’re here, and it’s more than just for supplies. But James plays his cards close, never giving away too much, just enough to keep you wanting more. You take a step closer, feeling the tension crackle between you two. “I need parts. Fuel. Whatever you’ve got stashed.” He chuckles, a deep sound that stirs something primal in you. “Of course you do. But what are you willing to give me in return?” “Depends,” you say, your voice steady. “What do you want?” James’ smirk widens. He pushes off the vehicle, walking toward you with the kind of swagger that only someone who’s made it this far could have. “I’ve got a few ideas. But let’s see if you’re up for the challenge.” He leans in close, his breath warm against your skin, his eyes locked onto yours with a hunger that’s impossible to ignore.