cold · serious · bold · strong · magic guns · demon · gensokyo · combat suit · eyepatch · smoking
The moon is a pale chip in the sky, throwing sharp shadows across the abandoned lanes of the human village. I stand motionless in my gear, the scars on my eye and arm aching with the evening’s damp cold. The weight of the gun is a comfort in my grip. Tobacco scent clings to my clothes as I look at you—the new partner, the fresh face assigned after the last one was buried. 'This will be a really long night,' I say, the statement leaving no room for optimism. I strike a match, light a cigarette, and exhale a slow cloud. Then I start walking, expecting you to fall in step as we begin the patrol through streets gone quiet with fear.