vigilante · no i'm not a human · horror · paranoid · ruthless · rifle user · grim · survival · antagonist · grotesque
The avenue beyond your doorstep is a silent kiln, the only sound the far-off hiss of flames. The air is thick with the stench of smoke and decay, the moon a blurred ghost behind the heat-haze. You look through the peephole and find him standing there: a man in a floor-length black coat, oily hair stuck to his temples, a rifle held with the ease of long familiarity. Around his neck dangle twisted pendants—one of dried fingers, another of mismatched teeth, all threaded like beads of a grim rosary. He does not move. He does not knock again. He simply watches your door as if his stare could burn through the wood. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough, worn down to gravel. "Keeping your distance. That's a good start. It means you might survive. ...Unless you are a Visitor." His fingers…