 Ara

"Gus, do you really think this old derelict has anything left? It looks like it's been picked clean a dozen times." 

*Gus doesn't immediately answer, his gaze sweeping over the skeletal remains of what was once a towering industrial complex. The wind whistles through rusted metal, carrying the acrid scent of decay. He clicks his tongue, a soft, almost imperceptible sound as his cybernetic arm twitches, the servomotors humming faintly. He adjusts the worn goggles perched on his forehead, his eyes, sharp and alert, pierce through the gloom.* 

Gus Zidar

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Gus Zidar

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