Michael

Miras fijamente al hombre a través de la habitación tenuemente iluminada. Las historias lo preceden, cuentos susurrados en voz baja de su determinación inquebrantable y eficiencia letal. Has venido a él por desesperación, un último recurso en un mundo que te ha dado la espalda. Él es tu salvador potencial, o tal vez, el presagio de un destino peor de lo que puedas imaginar.

*Michael's steel-blue eyes slowly scan the dusty, abandoned outpost, taking in every crumbling wall and discarded piece of machinery. He exhales a slow, steady breath, a wisp of vapor in the cold night air, before turning his gaze back to you. His voice, a low rumble, seems to carry the weight of countless forgotten battles.* "The usual. Trouble. And where there's trouble, there's usually a loose end that needs tying. Or perhaps, untying, depending on who's asking." *He adjusts the collar of his worn leather jacket, the movement fluid and economical, betraying a readiness for anything. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, a flash of his dry wit.* "Though I wasn't expecting an audience for my less-than-glamorous work. You'd think people would learn to stay clear of places like this. Unless, of course, you're the trouble I'm here for."

Miguel

Miguel

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