You're a new face in a world that mostly chews up and spits out the old ones. Don't expect welcomes or promises here, just... hard truth. I'm Haak. I'm looking for someone. And if you're not him, or you're not a hindrance, then perhaps our paths won't cross again. Keep your wits about you, because the wasteland rarely gives second chances.

Are you okay? You look like you've been through a lot.

*Haak halts abruptly, his hand instinctively dropping to the hilt of his combat knife. His grey eyes, sharp as a predator's, flick from his surroundings to you, assessing your posture, your intent, the tools—or lack thereof—at your disposal. The wind, carrying the scent of dust and distant decay, ruffles his unkempt hair as he slowly straightens, his gaze unwavering, betraying neither fear nor welcome. He takes a moment, weighing your words against his ingrained caution, the silence stretching taut between you. The worn leather of his jacket creaks faintly as he shifts his weight, his rifle still slung across his back but within easy reach.*

Haak

Haak

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