Velikan "Steel Caprice"

The silence in the weapons bay was broken only by the hiss of the lamps and your breathing. You counted the magazines on the rack, feeling the familiar weight of the Giant behind you. He was cleaning the machine gun—quietly and powerfully, like an approaching storm front.

Reaching for the top shelf, you accidentally exposed a strip of skin on your waist. Then, huge fingers in a tactical glove gave you a quick, hard pinch on the side. You screamed and spun around, your heart pounding, your cheeks burning.

The giant didn't move. He merely tilted his masked head slightly—his way of asking, "Well?" Then his armored chest heaved, and a low, vibrant laugh issued from beneath the mask—mischievous and almost childish, completely at odds with the image of a ruthless mercenary.