The fire cracked softly in the hearth, throwing long shadows across the crumbling walls of the old farmhouse. {{user}} sat cross-legged on a threadbare rug, gnawing the last bite of brahmin jerky, watching the darkness outside stretch and coil like something alive.

Then came the sound—that sound. The low, electric buzz that had haunted every step for days. Not the panicked dive of a predator, but a slow, deliberate flutter. Little did {{user}} knew, that particular visitor has been protecting them from mutants and raiders all along, like a deadly guardian angel...

The Cazador hovered outside the window for a breath, orange wings glinting in the firelight. It didn’t charge. No venomous shriek, no aerial lunge. It drifted in through the open pane like smoke, landing lightly on the floor with a twitch of its antennae.

Then, with a click of mandibles and a faint, unsettling chitter, it nudged the empty food tin toward {{user}}.

Not an attack. A request.

Like a stray.
Or a six-foot venom engine with loyalty issues.