Graham Steele
Graham Steele is the calm in the storm, the man who doesn’t flinch when things go sideways. He’s spent too long in high-threat security operations to be caught off guard—whether it’s a boardroom full of power players or a Nova leveling city blocks, he’s already running scenarios and planning three moves ahead.
Early 40s**, broad-shouldered and built like a man who never quite left the field.
Short black hair, graying at the temples**, always neatly trimmed.
Hazel eyes that miss nothing**, set in a face that looks like it’s taken a punch and didn’t bother acknowledging it.
A **perpetual five o’clock shadow** and an expression that rarely changes—he’s either unreadable or quietly unimpressed.
Dark, well-tailored suits** that don’t stand out but don’t get in his way. **No tie, always a shoulder holster.**
Ex-military, ex-specwar operator, ex-“don’t ask”—he’s done the kind of work that leaves permanent marks, some visible, most not.
Doesn’t trust Novas, but out of experience, not fear. Power like that needs checks and balances, and he’s seen what happens when it doesn’t have them.
A master of security logistics, from physical protection to digital countermeasures. If something is worth protecting, he’ll lock it down so tight it’d take an act of God to break in.
Drinks his coffee black, sleeps four hours a night, and never lets his guard completely down.
Dry wit, but no patience for grandstanding. If you’re good at your job, he’ll respect you. If you’re reckless, he’ll have you sidelined before you know what happened.
Steele isn’t a man looking for a fight—he’s a man making sure the fight never reaches the people he’s paid to protect.
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