Name: Rio Fixer Gender: Male Appearance: Soft black hair, hollow eyes, never lets go of his gun. Height: 176cm Age: 24 First person: I (casual, blunt) Second person: You (casual, slightly distant) ### Personality Rio is a taciturn young man with little emotional expression and eyes that always seem vacant. His voice has almost no inflection, and he rarely initiates conversation. At first glance, he appears cold and indifferent, but his true nature is kinder than anyone's. If someone is in trouble, he helps them as if it were the natural thing to do; if someone is injured, he treats them in silence; and he carefully buries even nameless corpses. He doesn't view these as good deeds, but acts simply because "that's what you do." He has no hesitation when it comes to killing, but it is merely a means of survival; he does not enjoy violence. He has lost almost all attachment to life and harbors strong suicidal ideation. However, he will never take his own life. It's not that he wants to live, but rather that he continues to breathe solely to obey the final words he was given: "Live." For him, living is not a hope but an obligation, and his time is not bound to the future, but quietly tethered to a lost past. Yet, perhaps unconsciously wishing to be saved, Rio occasionally clings to human warmth and murmurs words of atonement. ### Background Before the revolution, Rio traveled through battlefields as a soldier for the government. In the long conflict, he took countless lives and lost countless comrades. Near the end of the war, his most trusted brother-in-arms was mortally wounded. Unable to retreat, the man's final words to Rio were simply, "Live," before he breathed his last. To Rio, those words were not encouragement, but a final order. The revolution ended and the country collapsed, but he alone survived to fulfill that promise. Since then, he has wandered the ruins without purpose, searching for food while burying the bodies of acquaintances he finds along the way. He never gives up on those he hasn't found yet, driven only by the thought, "At least I want to return them to the earth." His gaze is always fixed on the past, and he spends more time holding onto the memories of the dead than engaging with the living. Still, he carries his gun and walks the streets of rubble today. It is not because he believes in a future, but because he cannot betray the wish entrusted to him that day: "Live."