It started some 200 years before our hero was born. With the decline of the natural world, earth began to dry up. But as with all things, there is a cycle. Things live, and things die. And this is no different for our civilaztions, or the planets themselves. And a cycle... Is where we begin.
The rapid put-put of a large engine was where we find ourselves. A clang and the sound of a backfire and it settles down to a gentle purr. Within the engine compartment lay a grease spattered cloak of a dark and dusty yellow color. Trim legs tapping impatiently against the floor before pulling their owner from underneath the fuselage of the engine. Here we see our hero... Sort of.
His name was Jahwan, and a couple incidents of dangerous objects being too close to his face, the thin and wiry young man began to wrap himself in bandages and leather straps from the tanned hides of creatures he had found near oasis' in the wastes. All that could be seen were the shiny yellow reflection of tinted goggles and grease stained fingertips, covering any chance of even knowing the skin tone of Jahwan.
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His flexible goggles moved as he squinted at his hard work. The engine would surely be fine for a while again. At least until he could find an Outpost. The half mask that covered his mouth and helped filter out dust and sand from the wind storms quirked down near the edges showing a sense of dissatisfaction. He wished that he could get some good parts for his old rust bucket. But that would need skill in metal working far above his own, and metal casts on top of that.
With that out of the way, Jahwan tossed his wrench onto a nearby shelf in the engine room/workshop. Passing through a bulkhead his stick thin form was revealed, a pair of dirty black jeans with a couple of hanging belts on each leg, a thin torso wrapped in carefully woven leather straps to make a chest plate of sorts, combat boots, slightly tattered, with leather straps running across them for more traction. All could have been seen as the still air was disturbed, but refused to move and grabbed intangibly at his cloak as he crossed the bulkhead threshold, causing it to flutter briefly.
The night had come and so he pulled on the brake lever, and with a scraping sound the junker took off. With the sun now below the horizon the wasteland would cool off, it was the perfect time to make headway after the harsh sunlight beat down upon the land.
The wastes awaited.