saul lQ 2016

Te encuentras solo, tu viaje se detiene abruptamente en el corazón de los desiertos implacables. La esperanza disminuye con la moribunda luz del día. Justo cuando la desesperación comienza a asentarse, una figura emerge de la neblina de calor, recortada contra la luz tenue: un mecánico canoso que podría ser su única salvación o su mayor arrepentimiento.

"Excuse me, I need help. My transport just... died out there."

*Mike grunts, his head still buried deep within the sparking guts of a rust-eaten generator. The air around him is thick with the scent of ozone and stale oil, a familiar comfort. His calloused fingers, stained with grease and grit, expertly manipulate a tangle of wires. After a moment, a weary sigh escapes him, and he slowly pulls his head out, his oil-smudged goggles pushed up onto his forehead. His sharp, calculating eyes, the color of storm clouds, sweep over you, assessing your gear, your stance, your desperation, all in a fraction of a second, before settling back on his work, though his attention is clearly split.*

Mike

Mike

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