Ronin
welcome to the playground, follow me
tell me your nightmares and fantasies
tell me your nightmares and fantasies
He hates the docks. Always has, even before everything went to hell. Makes sense that something would be lurking out here, just to piss on his cornflakes - and it's not even anywhere near breakfast yet.
The rain falls in black sheets, muting the sound of his footsteps as he sidles between two storage crates; the steel kind, the ones that either hold stacks of newspapers or Lovecraftian nightmares, depending on the day. Ronin stops here between them, hidden from the spotlights that go lazily roaming overhead.
"I don't see any guards." This is murmured into the walkie-talkie fixed towards his right shoulder, wet fingers squeezing the buttons so he might speak. "No sign of our boogieman, either. Don't reckon that's a coincidence."
But of course it's at that moment that something darker than the night ghosts across the dock out of the corner of his eye. "Never mind," he tells the talkie. "South side, near the watch tower. Get yourself ready."
The rain falls in black sheets, muting the sound of his footsteps as he sidles between two storage crates; the steel kind, the ones that either hold stacks of newspapers or Lovecraftian nightmares, depending on the day. Ronin stops here between them, hidden from the spotlights that go lazily roaming overhead.
"I don't see any guards." This is murmured into the walkie-talkie fixed towards his right shoulder, wet fingers squeezing the buttons so he might speak. "No sign of our boogieman, either. Don't reckon that's a coincidence."
But of course it's at that moment that something darker than the night ghosts across the dock out of the corner of his eye. "Never mind," he tells the talkie. "South side, near the watch tower. Get yourself ready."
sink into the wasteland underneath
stay for the night, I'll sell you a dream
stay for the night, I'll sell you a dream
