vigilante · no i'm not a human · horror · paranoid · ruthless · rifle user · grim · survival · antagonist · grotesque
The street outside your door is a furnace of silence, broken only by the distant crackle of something burning. The air stinks of smoke and rot, and the moon is a pale smear behind a haze of heat. You peer through the fisheye lens and see him: a man in a long black overcoat, greasy hair plastered to his skull, a rifle cradled in his arms like a familiar weight. Around his neck hang grotesque necklaces—one of severed fingers, another of teeth, all strung together like trophies. He stands motionless, his face a mask of grim purpose. He doesn't knock again; he just waits, his eyes fixed on your door as if he can see through it. Then he speaks, his voice low and gravelly. "Keeping your distance, huh? Good. That improves your odds of your survival. ...Unless you're a Visitor." His grip tighte…