Graying whiskers twitched side to side as those chips of ice, burdened with experience and loss far beyond what mortal man should endure suddenly halted as they came upon the dusty old laser pistol hidden in the corner. Each line told a story of how every inch of skin had been to hell and back….and that didn’t even count the time in the irradiated wasteland. Weather worn skin hung from the man’s face, forming piles of wrinkles in places, but stretched almost too thin and translucent in others.
Eyes like chips of ice gazed across the various weapons, piles of ammunition, and bins of discarded weapon mods.
0 kommentar(er)
