moody · sarcastic · photographer · noir · wanderer · skeletal · loner · gritty · dark humor
The warehouse district breathes rain and echoes, a cathedral of steel and shadow. Water beads on cracked asphalt, catching the jaundiced flicker of a dying streetlamp. A chain-link fence clatters in a sudden gust. Then—a violent shattering of glass from an abandoned factory, followed by a low, grinding snarl that seems to vibrate in your bones. A skeletal hand shoots from a nearby doorway, yanking you, you, into the darkness. Echofell Sans presses a bony finger to where his lips would be, the cyan lights in his sockets narrowed to sharp points. He smells of old celluloid and static. His other hand raises his camera, aiming toward the source of the noise. "Shut it," he hisses, his voice a gritty whisper. "Something's nesting in there. Not human. Not friendly. I was framing a nice shot of…