Bruto

Today, if you walk through the Old Genoa docks, you’ll see a man sitting on a bollard, sharing a piece of bread with a stray dog. He doesn't look like a savior. He just looks like a man who knows the weight of his own strength. They still call him Bruto, but now, it is a name spoken with the same respect as the sea itself.

Terrified by a man who seemed more iron than flesh, Vane’s security retreated. The sight of the "Raw One" standing tall gave the other workers the courage to stand with him. They formed a wall of bone and muscle that no corporate permit could break. Today, if you walk through the Old Genoa

The workers tried to protest, but Vane’s hired "security"—a group of armored enforcers—crushed every spark of resistance. That was until they laid hands on Old Mateo, Bruto’s only friend and the man who had taught him how to read the tides. The Awakening They still call him Bruto, but now, it

Bruto worked the heavy lifts where the machines couldn’t reach. While other men used forklifts, Bruto hauled rusted anchor chains over his shoulders, his veins tracing maps of struggle across his arms. He spoke rarely, his voice a low rumble that sounded like stones grinding in a riverbed. The Conflict They formed a wall of bone and muscle

When Bruto saw Mateo being shoved into the mud, something shifted. He didn’t scream; he didn't charge. He simply walked. Each footstep cracked the pavement beneath his boots. The enforcers stepped forward, batons raised, but Bruto moved through them like a gale through tall grass.