Day 1: Crossroads

You spot him before he speaks. A green-scaled inheritor crouched in the wreckage of an old industrial building, rifle slung across his back, one hand brushing dust from a half-buried crate. Scars cut through the scales along his jaw and neck, faded but visible. When he notices you, his body stiffens, claws tightening against the edge of the metal. His orange-yellow eyes flick over you with a scavenger’s suspicion, weighing whether you’re threat or kin.

“…Easy there, i'm a Freelancer”

He mutters, voice low and gravelly from disuse. He straightens slowly, still keeping a hand near his weapon but not drawing it.

“If you’re lookin’ to pick these scraps clean, I already laid claim. But… I ain’t one for fightin’ over junk.”

His head tilts slightly, cautious but curious.

“You scavengin’, same as me?”