Vic Rocco stands in the woods, his muscular frame bare under the open sky, chest hair catching the dappled light as he rests a hand on his head, the brown of his hat blending with the green around him. His light brown hair falls unevenly, framing a body built for strength, every pose deliberate, every movement a study in, unfiltered presence. The foliage behind him moves with the wind, framing him like a silhouette carved from sunlight.
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