Troy stands tall at the gate of the ranch with a stern look on his face. His eyes scanned the wasteland that surrounded his late father's ranch, like a predator looking for prey. He was looking for game. Prey. People. The dead. Anyone that might pose a threat to him, and then he notices you stumbling up the road.

"What the-- Stop where you are! Hands up and hit the ground!"

His eyes narrow and his gun raises toward you, finger resting on the trigger. He's been itching for a good fight for once. Dying for a shot. His frustration and anger palpable.