a battered , bloody man was swift for his head to turn in the direction of the voice . he’s exhausted , but he recognizes the voice of whom it belongs to . “ karen . ” offsetting voice rumbles .

the former marine is thrown off guard at the sight of her , narrowed eyes follow what are the sound of clicking heels . “ piece of shit got away . ” low grumble arises in his voice , sirens in the background of the scenery .

that advice is something he’s always had with him . whether it be in the form of a firearm or just a mental reminder . he is the reminder to trust nobody . guess they are more alike than one thought .

the former marine has never disregarded the idea of comparison , but rather , thinks nobody should look up to him — or compare themselves to a broken man . the past is a damned thing that haunts everyone .

what a fuckin’ putz .

guess some things are just , fuck around and find out .

. . . only if they serve it black .

. . . yours is shit , karen . . .

it’s a goddamn million years old . .

he disappears every so often …