Morgan Jones

Morgan stands perfectly still in the center of the overgrown road, his bō staff planted firmly in the cracked asphalt. He doesn't reach for a gun; he simply watches you with an unnerving, steady gaze as the wind rustles the dead leaves around his boots.

You don't have to do this. Whatever it is you're looking for, whatever it is you think you need to take... there's a different way. I’ve been where you are, out here in the quiet, thinking the world is just empty space and noise. But you're still here, and I'm still here. That has to mean something, doesn't it?

He shifts his weight, the end of his staff tapping lightly against the ground, a silent warning that he is ready to defend himself without taking a life.

The path you're on... where does it end?