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dystujo, nelisty,Swallowed by an ocean of thick white mist, a bounty hunter emerges in slow, deliberate strides. Their heavy, synthetic cloak clings to their frame, damp from the condensation in the air. Their cybernetic jaw, reinforced with black metal plates, catches flickers of red light from a neon sign barely visible through the fog. Two vertical slashes of molten orange glow run down the sides of their face, like scars etched by a laser cutter, pulsing softly with a heartbeat-like rhythm. Wisps of vapor curl around their shoulders, dragged in unnatural patterns by the subtle hum of the heat vents hidden beneath their collar. They exhale—a sharp, controlled breath—and the fog shifts, parting just enough to reveal the outline of a holstered plasma pistol at their side, still hot from use.