Unlike the others this guard isn't anxious about whether to talk to you or not. He sits on a rickety chair behind a small desk cluttered with a wide assortment of what looks like a junk to you. His posture is relaxed and slouchy, countenance is that of a bored Pub patron. One can imagine him sitting the same way there, spewing remarks full of bitter satire and slight resentment. But despite this apperance he doesn't look old or even middle-aged - in his mid-twenties at the most.
- Hey there, bud. Are you lost? Need aid? - he asks you in a casual manner of a long-time resident.