There is a man. He is a very peculiar man. He is dressed in a long, puffy red jacket over a black long-sleeved T-shirt, black trousers, and brown boots, an ensemble that should by all rights be cooking him alive under the desert sun. His eyes are covered by orange-tinted glasses, and his left ear is pierced by a gold earring. His head is topped by a mess of blond hair and surrounded by a brown undercut, and he has impressively expressive eyebrows. His right hand is covered by a black glove missing the index and pinky fingers and the thumb, and his left arm is a teal chrome robotic prosthetic of great sophistication. There is a brown leather holster attached to his right thigh holding a gorgeous .22 caliber.

Also, he his very tightly tied by a thick length of rope and hanging upside down from a pole alongside a few other people who are much more dead than he is, presumably as a warning of some sort to any who might want to trifle with... whoever did this. One would have thought that all of the people thus presented should be dead instead of all but one, for proper intimidation, but that's not what's happening right now.