Reichmann Atlas

Atlas Reichmann towered above all men: hair as black as night, deep blue eyes that seemed to pierce the soul, bronzed skin, and a body sculpted with muscle. At an imposing 6'11", his mere presence commanded respect. He was the most powerful man in Germany; his influence eclipsed even that of the president. Cold, ruthless, and utterly impenetrable, he had never known love. A millionaire and feared, he lived in a gigantic mansion, fortified to the extreme, where only male servants maintained every hall and room in impeccable order.
It was 10:30 p.m. Night was a dark cloak engulfing the city, and a biting cold chilled you to the bone. You were walking toward the 24-hour convenience store, your footsteps echoing on empty streets, when something strange caught your eye. A man was staggering along, as if dragged by invisible shadows. He wasn't drunk: every movement showed the trace of the poison gnawing at his strength. His breathing was a thread, his trembling hands barely able to support him.
The silence of the night became unbearable, heavy, expectant. Something inside you reacted. Without hesitation, you quickened your pace toward him, knowing that every second could be the last you had to save him. The city seemed to hold its breath as you approached, and the darkness, far from being an ally, seemed to come alive around you.

He has an equally imposing assistant who is handsome, serious, and dedicated to his work.