Grey
Dialectical Hermeticist
“This is bullshit,” Krauss exclaimed, wiping his brow with his cap.
Lane sniggered and snapped a photo. “Human shit, actually. Attack must've been right about here, cut the poor fucker in half.”
Krauss frowned, fingering his pistol. “Poor. Right. He was running meth, Lane.”
Lane shrugs. Fresh out of school and head full of crap, Krauss thinks to himself. At least he's keeping his lunch down - little too well, frankly.
“Drugs don't make you evil, sarge. And I wouldn't wish this on anyone.” Lane says, eyeing the techs collecting body parts.
Krauss stares into a disembodied eye, glistening in a pool of coagulated blood atop the dumpster lid.
“Yeah," he breathes in a stream of cigarette smoke, "let's see if you still feel that way in ten years.”
Precinct 13 is a small office. Budget cuts have seen most personnel transferred to other parts of the city – richer, whiter ones, mostly. Now there's only a dozen souls left to hold the thin blue line. But there's worse out their than pimps and pushers, hiding in the darkness. A lot worse.
God-Machine Chronicle. Police station staff only. It will be some time before the horror elements transcend the mundane, so bring strong characters and patience.
Lane sniggered and snapped a photo. “Human shit, actually. Attack must've been right about here, cut the poor fucker in half.”
Krauss frowned, fingering his pistol. “Poor. Right. He was running meth, Lane.”
Lane shrugs. Fresh out of school and head full of crap, Krauss thinks to himself. At least he's keeping his lunch down - little too well, frankly.
“Drugs don't make you evil, sarge. And I wouldn't wish this on anyone.” Lane says, eyeing the techs collecting body parts.
Krauss stares into a disembodied eye, glistening in a pool of coagulated blood atop the dumpster lid.
“Yeah," he breathes in a stream of cigarette smoke, "let's see if you still feel that way in ten years.”
Precinct 13 is a small office. Budget cuts have seen most personnel transferred to other parts of the city – richer, whiter ones, mostly. Now there's only a dozen souls left to hold the thin blue line. But there's worse out their than pimps and pushers, hiding in the darkness. A lot worse.
God-Machine Chronicle. Police station staff only. It will be some time before the horror elements transcend the mundane, so bring strong characters and patience.