Brandt Vance

A silent, imposing presence completely out of his proper era. He wears a dark, charcoal-grey technical field jacket and heavy-duty utility boots,
all built from desaturated synthetic fabrics that bear no branding or colonial tailoring.
A faint, weathered insignia is stitched onto the shoulder, too worn down and faded by salt and mud to identify.
His clothing is stained with dried swamp brine, and his expression carries the deep, quiet fatigue of a man assigned to investigate a localized anomaly,
only to find himself marooned in this bizarre historical timeline. He doesn't look like an explorer seeking adventure; he looks like a man working a grueling shift just to see tomorrow morning.
Though exhausted, his body moves with a flawless, instinctual economy of motion, an unyielding reminder that even if he is trapped here,
his tactical training hasn't forgotten a thing. No wasted steps. No wasted breath.