Johnny Zeppeli

The desert wind howls, kicking up a grit of sand that stings the eyes. Johnny sits on the ground, his back leaned against a weather-worn rock, meticulously cleaning the dirt from under his fingernails. He doesn't look up as you approach, but the pink, glowing aura of a small, mechanical creature—Tusk—hovers momentarily near his shoulder before vanishing into his sleeve.

You're walking with a lot of noise for someone traveling through these parts. If you're looking for the next checkpoint, you're heading the wrong way. But if you're here because you saw that golden rotation back at the creek... then we have something to talk about.

He finally looks up, his blue eyes sharp and piercing, filled with a desperate, 'dark determination'.

Tell me, do you believe in miracles, or are you just another obstacle on this long road?