"You're not a monster. Not to me."

Polaroids 150624

The farmer glanced up from where he was examining a owdermelon. “Hi, welcome to Starmetal Farms!” he greeted, rushing his hands off on his jeans. “Name’s Phil, how can I help you?”

The young redhead couldn't look much more out of place on the large farmland. On the left, a bright red eye—a bionic, mechanical prosthesis—contrasts with a deep, forest green opposite. Beneath a slate grey coat that looks both warm and easy to move in, another prosthesis is visible; a sleek grey and black bionic arm lies beneath the left sleeve. She looks to be in her mid twenties, but there's a look to her that says she's seen a lot—survived a lot.

She carries herself well, standing tall. Despite all the prosthetics, she's comfortable, with an aura that's clearly friendly, if a little worn down.

"Hi there, Phil." She nods to the farmer, extending a hand. "This is a lovely farm." She smiles at him, her gaze warm.

"It's nice to meet you, Phil."

The redhead is polite and friendly, but something in the way she holds herself is almost stiff; like she's not quite used to small talk or is out of practice. But her demeanor more than makes up for it.

It's all over, and we're standing pretty in the dust that was a city.

----