(no subject)
Who: Vincent
Status: Openish?
When: 1:55 PM
Where: Outskirts of Edge
What: Another walk, another death.
Warnings: blood, death
He'd parted from the patrol group not long after they had escorted the wounded soldier back to headquarters, taking the time instead to do a final walk through of the very tips of Edge's reach before he would return to Sector Four and attempt to get some rest. Perhaps an hour or so of shut eye would do it. Vincent walked along the rooftops, taking his time in digesting his surroundings with sharp eyes and Hydra at the ready, his boots making little sound against the firm foundation.
It was uncharacteristically quiet.
He liked that not.
He inhaled sharply before lunging for the next rooftop, cloak catching the wind with a sharp round, and landed in a crouch with a dull thud. Straightening, pushing the red fabric away so it didn't tangle between his legs, and he was moving again, shifting Hydra so that the rifle rested against his shoulder.
The tinge, sharp smell of urine, and the coppery taste of blood. He slowed his walk, coming to the edge of the roof and half-kneeling, cupping the underside of the Hydra with his prosthetic hand and lifting it lightly, human hand wrapping around the grip, finger pressed against the trigger. He craned his head down, gazing through the scope as he searched for the source of the smell. Trailing his sight along the walls, down adjacent alleyways, and - there.
The man was pinned against the wall with his hands secured above his head, a knife notched through his palms and the wall. Blood trailed down his arms, but another wound had still rather fresh liquid trickling out from the torso. He glanced around to ensure he was alone, aside from the corpse, and hopped from the roof, landing in the alleyway.
It wasn't a WRO soldier. And by the state of him, when ignoring the blood and feces that had been released upon death, a member of the lower class. The knife was deeply embedded into the wall - something someone of average human strength that wasn't possible, was it? Not through flesh and bones and brick.
He straightened from the slight bend he had taken to study the man, human hand moving across the still open eyes to shut them permanently.
He'd let the proper authorities come across this one.
Status: Openish?
When: 1:55 PM
Where: Outskirts of Edge
What: Another walk, another death.
Warnings: blood, death
He'd parted from the patrol group not long after they had escorted the wounded soldier back to headquarters, taking the time instead to do a final walk through of the very tips of Edge's reach before he would return to Sector Four and attempt to get some rest. Perhaps an hour or so of shut eye would do it. Vincent walked along the rooftops, taking his time in digesting his surroundings with sharp eyes and Hydra at the ready, his boots making little sound against the firm foundation.
It was uncharacteristically quiet.
He liked that not.
He inhaled sharply before lunging for the next rooftop, cloak catching the wind with a sharp round, and landed in a crouch with a dull thud. Straightening, pushing the red fabric away so it didn't tangle between his legs, and he was moving again, shifting Hydra so that the rifle rested against his shoulder.
The tinge, sharp smell of urine, and the coppery taste of blood. He slowed his walk, coming to the edge of the roof and half-kneeling, cupping the underside of the Hydra with his prosthetic hand and lifting it lightly, human hand wrapping around the grip, finger pressed against the trigger. He craned his head down, gazing through the scope as he searched for the source of the smell. Trailing his sight along the walls, down adjacent alleyways, and - there.
The man was pinned against the wall with his hands secured above his head, a knife notched through his palms and the wall. Blood trailed down his arms, but another wound had still rather fresh liquid trickling out from the torso. He glanced around to ensure he was alone, aside from the corpse, and hopped from the roof, landing in the alleyway.
It wasn't a WRO soldier. And by the state of him, when ignoring the blood and feces that had been released upon death, a member of the lower class. The knife was deeply embedded into the wall - something someone of average human strength that wasn't possible, was it? Not through flesh and bones and brick.
He straightened from the slight bend he had taken to study the man, human hand moving across the still open eyes to shut them permanently.
He'd let the proper authorities come across this one.