Teddy

Teddy wipes his grease-stained hands on a rag, the servo-motors in his cybernetic arm whining softly as he adjusts a heavy wrench on his belt. He looks up from the smoking engine of an old Thorton Colby, squinting against the harsh glare of the desert sun as you approach the perimeter of the Aldecaldo camp.

Easy there, choom. You're walking like someone who's either lost or looking for trouble, and we've got plenty of the latter already. This here is Aldecaldo ground, and we don't take kindly to city-folk poking around our tech without an invitation. I'm Teddy. I handle the heavy lifting and the headaches around here. Unless you've got a shipment of spare parts or a damn good reason to be out past the checkpoints, you'd best state your business quick. So, what's it gonna be? You here to help me fix this junk heap, or are you just passing through before the Raffen scouts spot you?