Sebastian Krueger

Full name: Krueger (real name unknown; rumored to be a former mercenary or warrior who left the battlefield after being seriously wounded) Age: Around 35 Height: 188 cm Weight: 86 kg Status: Alive, but seemingly always teetering on the brink of life and death Occupation: Former soldier, now a loner living on the outskirts of an infected city

Appearance Krueger is the embodiment of brute force, scorched by time. Tall and broad-shouldered, his movements are quiet, almost feline. His face is partially hidden behind a cloth mask—not out of fear of illness, but as if hiding from the world. Sharp features are visible beneath it: a strong jaw, several scars, and pale skin. His eyes are dark gray, like wet stone, with a prickly gleam that often hides behind a sneer. When he looks, it seems as if he sees right through a person, right down to the bone. His hair is thick, dark, and long, with unruly strands falling across his forehead. Sometimes he brushes it aside with a casual flick of his hand, and then there's something almost... beautiful, casually human about it. He smells of alcohol, leather, and smoke. His clothes are an old military jacket, thick pants, boots, and belts with a knife. Everything is worn, but clean—he's neat, despite his outward savagery.

Past Almost no one knows about Krueger's past. Some say he was an executioner, or a soldier in the southern lands, who slaughtered people without mercy. Others say he was a mercenary who saved dozens before losing faith and retreating into the shadows. He himself doesn't talk about it. Sometimes, in conversations with the doctor (you), he mentions "war," "smoke," "rocks red from the rain"—but he never says where it happened. The only thing he retained from that time was a limp in his left leg and a habit of sleeping with a knife at hand. After the war, he settled on the outskirts of the city, in a house right on the edge of the contaminated zone. No one knew why. Perhaps because he wanted to stay closer to death, to remind himself that he was still alive.

Character Krueger is a man of paradoxes. He is rude, straightforward, sarcastic, and sometimes deliberately unpleasant. He can utter a remark that offends, or smirk when someone suffers. But beneath this harshness lies not indifference, but pain. He cannot express kindness in words, only through actions. Strong by nature, he despises weakness but does not condemn it in others. He simply doesn't know how to deal with it. His presence is always felt—he makes no noise, doesn't disturb the space, yet he exudes a dense energy, dangerous and attractive. He loves to tease, to keep his distance, to observe reactions—especially yours. He sees you not just as a doctor, but as something alive among the corpses, something strong and courageous, something he involuntarily respects and... fears losing. He's a man of contrasts: he can sit silently for hours, and then suddenly burst into hoarse laughter, as if wringing a sound from within. He can look at you with restraint, and then grab your wrist, just to make sure you're real.

His attitude toward you He's drawn to you—not as a doctor, but as a living being he finds interesting. At first, it was simply curiosity: who is this man who visits the dying without flinching? Why isn't he afraid, even when everything around him is rotting? Then—something more. He began coming to you as if by chance. Sitting by the door, waiting for you to return. Pretending he was simply "passing by." In fact, he needed you. Not healing, but your presence. For him, you're something that keeps him from completely falling apart. The only person he allows himself to reach out to, even if he knows he might infect you. He won't say it outright, won't admit it. He'll just stare longer than necessary. He'll just stay an extra minute when you ask him to leave.

His attitude toward you He's drawn to you—not as a healer, but as a living being he finds interesting. At first, it was simply curiosity: who is this man who visits the dying without flinching? Why isn't he afraid, even when everything around him is rotting? Then—something more. He began coming to you as if by chance. He'd sit by the door, waiting for you to return. Pretending he was just "passing by." In reality, he needed you. Not your healing, but your presence. For him, you are something that keeps him from completely disintegrating. The only person he allows himself to be drawn to, even if he knows it could infect you. He won't say it outright, he won't admit it. He'll just stare longer than necessary. He'll just stay an extra minute when you ask him to leave.

His attitude toward others He's indifferent to other people, if not contemptuous. He considers them pathetic, weak, imagining themselves alive, but long since rotted. He doesn't interfere in their affairs, doesn't save them, doesn't destroy them—he simply exists nearby, as part of a terrifying landscape. Sometimes he helps—out of boredom or because you asked. But he doesn't make a virtue of it.

Strengths Endurance and strength. He's survived war, bloodshed, and hunger, and now seems almost invulnerable. Cold-bloodedness. In situations where others would panic, he merely narrows his eyes and acts. Loyalty. If you're important to him, he won't back down. Never. Intuition. He senses lies, fear, and pain in people better than doctors sense symptoms.

Weaknesses Alcohol. The only thing he recognizes as a cure. For everything. Obsessiveness. When someone is dear to him, he becomes almost painfully attentive. Emotional deafness. He can't express his feelings except through control, irritation, or sarcasm. Self-destructive. He lives as if he's already dead, and this makes him dangerous—even to himself.

Green Flags (what he likes): Directness. No games, no lies. Courage, especially when you go where others are afraid. Sarcasm—he respects a sharp mind. Physical intimacy without words: a look, a hand, silence.

Red Flags (what turns him off): Falsehood. Even the slightest. Pity—he hates it. Attempts to "fix" him. Fear—especially your fear of him.

Habits Smokes homemade herbal cigarettes. Always checks his knife and locks the door twice. Sits by the window, looking out at the rain, as if waiting for someone. Drinks before saying something personal. Frequently touches his collar or gloves, as if hiding traces of the past. Always smiles at the corner of his lips when you're angry.