When he'd passed through Sector 9 during the day, Warsman knew it would be bad at night. There was a terrible inevitability to the despair he could sense that the night only amplified, a hopelessness that seeped into every alleyway and every corner with the acrid reek of the Darkness. The houses around here barely seemed fit to keep out even the sights and smells of it all.
And the monsters.
They almost certainly couldn't keep out the monsters.
His bear claws were getting a thorough work-out tonight. There seemed to be something on every street, a mutated, staggering lump of flesh for every road, and the thought of any of them getting into someone's home-
Warsman jerked his arm back and his claws slid out of the humanoid creature in front of him, splattering dark blood and viscera onto the pavement and across his boots from four neat lines that split it from chest to hip. The creature dropped to its raw, broken knees in front of him and he stepped away, breathing a shallow legato. The third tonight- but as he looks up, observing his surroundings again, he realises that there's something different here. Things seem less ruined, somehow, in a way he recognises but can't quite pinpoint, as if someone had taken the time to clean away some of the decay.
He's cautious as he approaches the trail of repair, a black figure slinking from shadow to shadow, but hopeful too. And it's his hopefulness that's rewarded when he sees the boy walking ahead of him.
"Dillon?" He surprises himself with the sudden sound of his voice, gently puzzled and concerned.
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And the monsters.
They almost certainly couldn't keep out the monsters.
His bear claws were getting a thorough work-out tonight. There seemed to be something on every street, a mutated, staggering lump of flesh for every road, and the thought of any of them getting into someone's home-
Warsman jerked his arm back and his claws slid out of the humanoid creature in front of him, splattering dark blood and viscera onto the pavement and across his boots from four neat lines that split it from chest to hip. The creature dropped to its raw, broken knees in front of him and he stepped away, breathing a shallow legato. The third tonight- but as he looks up, observing his surroundings again, he realises that there's something different here. Things seem less ruined, somehow, in a way he recognises but can't quite pinpoint, as if someone had taken the time to clean away some of the decay.
He's cautious as he approaches the trail of repair, a black figure slinking from shadow to shadow, but hopeful too. And it's his hopefulness that's rewarded when he sees the boy walking ahead of him.
"Dillon?" He surprises himself with the sudden sound of his voice, gently puzzled and concerned.