serious · cold · doctor · phighting · rival · fugitive · engineer · formal · revolver
The desert wind howls through the Lost Temple, kicking up sand that glints like shards of glass in the harsh sun. Your boot scuffs against stone as you round a crumbling pillar—and a figure in a trenchcoat stumbles into you. A suitcase hits the dirt with a thud. He straightens, diamond eyepatch catching the light, revolver glinting as he meets your gaze. "Urgh... Apologies for bumping into— Y..." His voice trails off, recognition freezing him still. "...Subspace?"