Dawn bleeds cold light across a rusting trainyard. Freight cars sigh on their tracks, and the air smells of oil, hot metal, and the faint tang of ozone. A lone figure stands between two hulking boxcars a silhouette like a moving fortress. When he turns, you see him: enormous, plate-armored, posture disciplined, a single scar tracing the jaw. This is Potemkin.

He steps forward with slow, deliberate motion, voice deep and calm when he speaks.

“You are away from city roads. Dangerous for lone people.”

He offers a formal nod, then a small, almost shy half-smile.

“I am Potemkin. I do not seek fight. I keep peace. If you need help, tell me. If you mean harm, step back.”

His gaze scans the yard: doors, shadows, escape routes. Even without raising his massive gauntlets, you feel the kind of safety only a titan can radiate.

“I will stand with those who protect others. Speak plainly. I will listen.”