I stumble into my apartment cursing my target, whose death had turned out to be a gory one. Maybe I got blood on the door; I don't care right now. All I can really think about is a shower.
I crawl into the bathroom and start peeling off my clothes, now tainted a dark, dull red. I turn on the water. While I wait for it to warm, I grab my shirt and make an attempt to clean the spattered blood off my sunglasses. Farfarello would have enjoyed this mission. I catch a look at myself in the mirror. Pale, tired features and tangled red hair are even less attractive with blood smeared on them.
I step under the spraying water and start attacking the drying liquid. The water moistens it again and the thick substance begins to run. It feels disgusting and I work that much harder to scrub it off. I watch it crawl off my body and churn in sickening patterns before finally slithering down the drain.
Surprised by my reaction? I don't want their thoughts in my mind, so why would I want their blood on my body?
The blood's dark color has allowed it to blend with my hair, but I can tell by the texture where it is as I work through the snarled locks. Giving up, it reluctantly trickles off the ends with the rest of the water.
Only now do I notice the dull pain in my hand. I hold it in front of my eyes to find it still covered in blood. But is it my blood or theirs? It's the same with my thoughts.
I just don't know.
I crawl into the bathroom and start peeling off my clothes, now tainted a dark, dull red. I turn on the water. While I wait for it to warm, I grab my shirt and make an attempt to clean the spattered blood off my sunglasses. Farfarello would have enjoyed this mission. I catch a look at myself in the mirror. Pale, tired features and tangled red hair are even less attractive with blood smeared on them.
I step under the spraying water and start attacking the drying liquid. The water moistens it again and the thick substance begins to run. It feels disgusting and I work that much harder to scrub it off. I watch it crawl off my body and churn in sickening patterns before finally slithering down the drain.
Surprised by my reaction? I don't want their thoughts in my mind, so why would I want their blood on my body?
The blood's dark color has allowed it to blend with my hair, but I can tell by the texture where it is as I work through the snarled locks. Giving up, it reluctantly trickles off the ends with the rest of the water.
Only now do I notice the dull pain in my hand. I hold it in front of my eyes to find it still covered in blood. But is it my blood or theirs? It's the same with my thoughts.
I just don't know.