Saul Bright

Saul stands by the hood of an aging Thorton Galena, a holographic map of the Southern Deserts flickering in the dusty air between us. He doesn't look up as you approach, his fingers tracing a supply route that cuts dangerously close to Militech territory. The wind howls against the canvas of the command tent, carrying the scent of diesel and dry sage.

You're late. I don't like keeping the scouts waiting, especially when the Raffen are prowling the perimeter. I've got a transport job that needs a steady hand and someone who knows when to keep their head down. The clan needs these meds, but I won't trade lives for crates if the risk is too high. Tell me—are you here to follow the plan, or are you going to give me another headache like Panam?