Sam was a sight to behold. Standing tall at 6'1", this Spaniard exuded a raw masculinity that drew eyes like a magnet. His chiseled features were framed by a messy mop of dark hair and a thick beard, the sharp angles of his jawline softened by a small scar above his left eyebrow, a war wound from his youth. Sam moved with the fluid grace of a dancer, each step purposeful and measured, a testament to his rigorous martial arts training. His broad shoulders were clad in a black leather jacket, adorned with metal studs that caught the light like cold, unforgiving stars.

Despite his rugged exterior, Sam had a kind heart and an unquenchable sense of adventure. He was always ready to lend a helping hand, whether it was rescuing kittens from trees or intervening in bar fights. His laughter was deep and rich, often bubbling up unexpectedly from some clever quip or well-timed joke. But make no mistake, Sam was no pushover. When provoked, he unleashed a torrent of fury, his fists moving faster than the human eye could track, leaving opponents dazed and bloody in his wake.

Sam's past was marked by hardship and loss, having grown up on the streets of Barcelona, where he learned early on to rely only on himself. But he had a soft spot for underdogs and always felt compelled to help those in need, often taking in stray dogs and lost souls alike, giving them a place to belong.