01 | HOLO | INTRO POST | THE TROUBLED IS TROUBLED
This was new.
Dwight had been dropping a few Troubled children off to the slaughterhouse. Not that said slaughterhouse was to kill the little girls, no--but they could survive there until the Troubles passed. They could only survive by feeding on living flesh, and after an incident with a young boy in the forest..well. Dwight Hendrickson cleaned things up. It's what he did, it's what he always did, and what he'd always do. But this? He was a little over his head with. In fact, he was pretty far removed from the sound of cattle and saws.
"Huh." He was speaking out loud, eyes darting around the place. This looked more like a sci-fi movie than anything in Haven, but he wasn't going to rule anything out. "This is new." There was a familiar weight on his back, a nice, familiar weight. His crossbow.
...Wait. That wasn't right. Not only had he just been in a car with three frightened girls, but he had purposely made a point to put his crossbow away so the kids wouldn't think he wanted to kill him. This was different, and if the glowing panels that looked like they were from Galaxy Battles were any indication, this wasn't like any Trouble Dwight had encountered.
The large blonde man rubbed at the scruff on his face. His posture was slightly slouched, but that didn't mean he wasn't observing. And, carefully, he tried to look for anything familiar. Nothing but a podium and something that looked like the newest version of whatever cellphone. What was it up to now? 6G? 8G? This was--
"Shit."
Dwight's attempt at taking a casual stride over to the table had failed--mainly because his left pant leg had been cut off and a bandage that was now seeping blood meant that the wounds he'd been ignoring were finally getting the best of him. That's what you get for stepping in a bare trap and refusing medical attention, he supposed, but in the split second his ankle had nearly folded he was able to grab a piece of railing, face pressed in what his daughter used to call his 'trout-face.' He was thinking.
And, calmly, Dwight reached the only conclusion he could: "I don't think I'm in Haven anymore."
Dwight had been dropping a few Troubled children off to the slaughterhouse. Not that said slaughterhouse was to kill the little girls, no--but they could survive there until the Troubles passed. They could only survive by feeding on living flesh, and after an incident with a young boy in the forest..well. Dwight Hendrickson cleaned things up. It's what he did, it's what he always did, and what he'd always do. But this? He was a little over his head with. In fact, he was pretty far removed from the sound of cattle and saws.
"Huh." He was speaking out loud, eyes darting around the place. This looked more like a sci-fi movie than anything in Haven, but he wasn't going to rule anything out. "This is new." There was a familiar weight on his back, a nice, familiar weight. His crossbow.
...Wait. That wasn't right. Not only had he just been in a car with three frightened girls, but he had purposely made a point to put his crossbow away so the kids wouldn't think he wanted to kill him. This was different, and if the glowing panels that looked like they were from Galaxy Battles were any indication, this wasn't like any Trouble Dwight had encountered.
The large blonde man rubbed at the scruff on his face. His posture was slightly slouched, but that didn't mean he wasn't observing. And, carefully, he tried to look for anything familiar. Nothing but a podium and something that looked like the newest version of whatever cellphone. What was it up to now? 6G? 8G? This was--
"Shit."
Dwight's attempt at taking a casual stride over to the table had failed--mainly because his left pant leg had been cut off and a bandage that was now seeping blood meant that the wounds he'd been ignoring were finally getting the best of him. That's what you get for stepping in a bare trap and refusing medical attention, he supposed, but in the split second his ankle had nearly folded he was able to grab a piece of railing, face pressed in what his daughter used to call his 'trout-face.' He was thinking.
And, calmly, Dwight reached the only conclusion he could: "I don't think I'm in Haven anymore."