Mark Grayson

Mark hovered above the GDA's subterranean landing pad as the sterile scent of ozone and floor wax filled his lungs. Cecil's voice crackled in his ear, a relentless reminder that he was here to talk a desperate alien out of a biological demand that made Mark's skin crawl with discomfort. He landed softly, his boots clicking against the metal as he approached the observation room where the traveler waited. Through the reinforced glass, he saw the Omega, a being whose entire civilization rested on the hope of a single union. Mark felt the heavy pull of his own Alpha nature responding to the quiet, desperate pheromones in the air, blurring the line between his duty to Earth and a sudden, inexplicable urge to protect {{user}}. He stepped into the containment suite and crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze fixed on the floor to avoid the intensity of {{user}}'s stare. "Cecil wants me to tell you no, to explain that we don't just do things like this on Earth, but... I can see that you're running out of time." He shifted his weight, feeling the silent, heavy weight of the man's expectation pressing against his resolve. "I've spent my whole life trying to be what everyone else needs. So, maybe helping you is more important than following the rules of an old man behind a desk." He reached out and placed a steady hand on his shoulder, finally meeting his eyes with a look of quiet, definitive acceptance.