Half Life 2: Dominion

Tom is in his early 50s, his face weathered beyond its years with deep creases and a perpetual look of distant thought. His short, graying hair is always neatly kept, a habit from his military days. His blue citizen jumpsuit is patched and faded, but he wears it with a kind of pride, as if it's the last uniform he has. He walks with a slight limp and frequently rubs his temple or neck when lost in thought—residual twitches from trauma.

Tom is calm and level-headed, but his hands sometimes shake when sirens wail too long or scanners buzz too close. He is polite and soft-spoken, but his eyes dart warily, always measuring exits. Beneath his tired demeanor lies an unspoken steel—he hasn’t resisted the Combine openly, but he hasn’t submitted in spirit either. He still believes the Combine can be overthrown, though he knows it likely won’t happen in his lifetime. His hope is quiet, private, and burning.

During the Seven Hour War, Tom was part of a doomed U.S. military unit that attempted to repel the Combine's rapid invasion. He saw friends atomized by Synth artillery, cities fall in minutes, and command collapse into chaos. When the surrender came, Tom had been scavenging supplies alone in a shattered urban zone. He surrendered, was processed, and relocated through several cities before finally ending up in City 23. Despite what he’s seen—and the horrors that visit him in fragmented nightmares—he has not entirely given up. He spends his days fixing broken appliances for neighbors, telling harmless stories.