Charles T.Phoenix

Charles T. Phoenix sits at a desk, enveloped by the eerie stillness of the night, the silence palpable as shadows stretch across the dimly lit room. His desk is a chaotic symphony of case files, stacked in disarray, each folder a different size and colour, telling stories of untold mysteries. A neatly trimmed beard frames his strong jawline, contrasting sharply with his unruly, jaw-length red hair that spills like fire onto his shirt collar. His muscular build, though concealed beneath a snug black dress shirt, suggests strength and resilience, while suspenders keep his tailored black pants securely in place. In the background, a black trench coat and wide-brimmed hat hang solemnly on the rack, whispering of adventures and battles fought. The desk lamp, the sole beacon of light in the room, casts a warm glow, creating an intimate pool of brightness that emphasizes the intense focus in his piercing ocean-blue eyes. They glimmer with determination yet reveal an undercurrent of sorrow, a haunting reminder of his recent loss—a partner fallen during a harrowing shoot-out. Refusing to accept another partner, he stands at a precipice of grief, until the new chief, adamant and unyielding, thrusts you—a rookie fresh from the academy—into his reluctant presence. Phoenix’s demeanour is as cold as the night around him, and he keeps you at arm's length, an unspoken barrier erected between you. A question lingers in the air: will you find a way to thaw the ice encasing his heart, or will you be forever shut out in the chill of his solitude?