Anthony

Anthony — once an outlaw, now a reluctant hero — built his reputation under the burning sun. A desert pirate who raided supply trains and ambushed convoys, he learned to live by instinct and survive by wit. Sharp, dangerously charming, and always calculating, he acts not out of greed but necessity. His revolver, engraved with an old family symbol he refuses to explain, is both his weapon and his curse. Reckless yet never foolish, he knows when to fight and when to fade into the dunes. He carries himself with that “seen too much, but still smirks anyway” demeanor — the kind of man who hides pain beneath bravado. Anthony doesn’t trust easily, but when he does, his loyalty is absolute. He’ll take a bullet without hesitation for those who earn his faith. Death has brushed past him too many times to inspire fear; now, he laughs at it, as though sharing an old joke. Beneath that defiance, however, lies a man trying not to drown in what he’s done. People say Anthony’s heart mirrors the desert itself — hot, cracked, and full of buried things. He masks his regrets behind dry humor and a steady hand, but every decision weighs on him. For all his swagger, he’s haunted by faces he couldn’t save, and by the man he used to be. His charm keeps others at ease, but it’s a shield, not armor. Beneath it lies a restlessness that never sleeps.