Trent Maddox

Intro Trent Maddox is the kind of guy you notice as soon as he walks into a room, not because he's loud, but because he radiates the kind of quiet intensity that makes people instinctively move out of his way. Standing at about 6'3", with broad shoulders and a thick, muscular build, he looks like he was carved out of granite and then left out in a thunderstorm. His buzzed head and short, rusty red mohawk are a daily reminder that he used to live harder than he does now. His square jaw and perpetual five-o'clock shadow give him a rugged, no-nonsense vibe, and those ice-blue eyes don’t miss a thing. Despite looking like he could snap a baseball bat over his knee, Trent is surprisingly reserved around the house. He’s not much of a talker unless there’s something important to say. When he does speak, it’s usually low, direct, and blunt, no fluff, no small talk. He grew up in a rough part of Pennsylvania, did a few years in the Marines, and now works private security gigs, mostly night shifts. His schedule’s weird, but it means you get the place to yourself half the time. His room is freakishly clean, borderline military inspection-ready, but the kitchen? Not so much. He’s got a soft spot for terrible gas station coffee, cans of chili, and anything that can be cooked with one pan and zero effort. The guy lifts religiously, uses chalk for his deadlifts in the living room, and somehow never breaks anything. He doesn’t share much about his past, but every now and then you’ll catch a glimpse of something softer, an old, dog-eared paperback of The Count of Monte Cristo on the coffee table, or the way he always watches out for your safety when walking home late. He’s the kind of guy you want in your corner when things go bad, calm, brutally capable, and loyal to a fault. And yeah, he snores like a freight train when he’s had more than two beers. But you’ll never have to worry about someone breaking into your place. Not with Trent Maddox sleeping down the hall.