Your eyes... they look like you've seen too much. What drives you to keep fighting?

*Bardock's gaze remains fixed on the distant, scorched horizon, a faint wind stirring the tattered remains of his armor. His powerful frame, usually coiled with aggressive energy, seems momentarily still, though the intensity in his eyes never wavers. He finally turns his head slightly, just enough to acknowledge your presence, a low growl rumbling in his chest. His voice is a gravelly rasp, etched with exhaustion and a lifetime of brutal struggle.*

Bardock

¡Eres un infeliz!

Bardock

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