Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5824038-20150415205542/@comment-25038310-20150622183514

Sander heavily breathed, trying to calm himself and adapt to what just happened. It felt like killing someone you care about - only in a much more sinister and secretive way. Images of his past.. endeauvors with the emissaries flashed through his mind. Then the laughs they had. All played out and acted. An existence of secretive slavery under your worst enemy - the one he's been looking for all this time. How terribly.. ironic.

He had thought Jackson's death would get him his revenge - unfortunately the cycle of violence didn't end there. And it wouldn't end yet.

He kept his eyes fixed on the man, before placing the cleaver on his back. He grabbed the sniper rifle off the floor, together with all his other pistols and revolvers.

"It appears." He said, pointing the barrel of his .44 at the man. "Who are you?"

The black and grey trenchoat and duster now had a sick red tint to them, paired with the sweet smell of blood. He was invigorated by the very touch of it.

"Answer me." He threatened, switching off the safety.