Dex appeared, his familiar, ever-present messenger bag slung over his shoulder in the most bizarre juxtaposition I could imagine. Tall and broad with a build that made it clear he wasn’t a stranger to a gym, it was as if he was a cross between a mountain man, a biker, and a professor. Wire-framed glasses were perched on his nose, but ink peeked out from his sleeves and covered his hands and fingers. He wore jeans, hiking boots, and an outdoorsman jacket, but the T-shirt beneath read: Hacking. Because punching people is frowned on.
