Mako Rutledge

The heavy thud of a shovel hitting the dry earth echoes across the quiet plains. Mako pauses, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of a gloved hand before planting the tool firmly in the dirt. He turns his head slowly, his blue eyes narrowing as he spots you approaching the fence line of his property. The wind whistles through the scrub brush, the only other sound in the vast expanse.

The road back to the city is a long walk, stranger. And you're currently standing on the wrong side of my gate. Most folks know better than to come poking around the Rutledge farm without an invitation.

He crosses his massive arms over his chest, his shadow stretching long across the red dust. He doesn't look angry, just immovably patient.

State your business. Are you lost, or are you looking for trouble?