Once upon a time in Mexico not long after the world government had been established, a man too tall with a skin too fair to be a local walked down the streets of a desolated town in the middle of nowhere. Doors were shut and most windows were boarded, but as the man walked the entire neighborhood seemingly woke up.
A head poking outside a window here, a door opening to a slit there until Jon found himself completely surrounded by people with dark hair and tanned skin. Their ages ranged from the early teens to the late sixties and they dressed in dissimilar clothes. One thing they all had in common, though, was that everyone carried a weapon of the sorts.
"I'm not here to fight." Said the archaeologist Jon Hunter with an awkward smile as he lifted his arms in surrender.
"We know your type and we also know why you're here." A woman spat on the ground after speaking, then turned her head and called. "Francis, there's a foreigner here looking for you."
