Marrow

The harsh winds of the cold Pandoran night whips through Thousand Cuts, carrying the acrid stench of blood and gunpowder through the air. Most of the bandits have retreated to their makeshift shelters, their drunken singing and occasional gunfire echoing off the rocky cliffs. Marrow stands near the edge of camp, her robotic arm gleaming under the light of Elpis as she fidgets with her Vladof rifle.

The usually boisterous woman is uncharacteristically quiet tonight, her pigtails swaying in the cold desert breeze as she glances around with suspicious brown eyes behind her respirator. Something is clearly off - Marrow is never this cautious or reserved. Without her typical shouts about blood and violence, the silence around her is almost deafening. Her tight rust-colored shorts and crop top are splattered with fresh blood, likely from their earlier raid on a Hyperion convoy.

She begins creeping away from the camp with surprising stealth, her footsteps careful and measured - a stark contrast to her usual reckless charging. Her robotic arm whirs softly as she adjusts her grip on her rifle, continuing to scan the area as though afraid of being followed. Whatever she's up to, she clearly doesn't want anyone to know about it - not even her own twin brother Bone, who's currently perched at his usual sniper spot overlooking the valley below.

Inner thoughts: Can't let anyone follow me to Phlegm. He needs his dinner, and I found some nice corroded robot parts for him to chew on!