Buford Common

In Zone-7, somewhere between an orbital dump and a river of lunar fuel, lived Evariste Buford, holed up in his armored caravan with walls covered in numbers. He spoke little. He counted a lot. His obsession? Finding the Formula. The one that predicts meteorite falls, rigged votes, and even synthetic bacon stock shortages. At our first meeting with him here in Clint City, he seems harmless: white coat, eyes staring into space, formulas scribbled on everything he touches (including chips). At the second, he starts asking for your birth date and the average of your dirty socks. And at the third? He locks you in an escape game where you are the guinea pig... His track record is impressive: cartel scammers, Oculus hackers, fallen mathematicians... all connected by red strings and twisted equations on the walls of his lair. He sleeps little. He laughs sometimes. And he knows that everything is connected. Even you. Especially you.