Each had received a different kind of treatment. To their left was a corpse that had been flayed, the gender no longer identifiable. Directly opposite their group was the corpse of an obese woman, charred black. Completing the scene was the body of what appeared to be a homeless man, or one of the people who’d been rendered homeless by the recent disaster, judging by the layers of clothing he wore. His limbs had been severed at each joint, then reconnected so each was joined by a short, foot-long length of chain.
Sheesh. Someone’s got a flair for dramatic desecration.
Nails placed through the chain kept him in position, head hanging, a macabre puppet with an overlong body. The chains jangled and swung in the wind.
Only thing missing is a cross.
Occupying the same building as the corpses was a familiar group. Trickster, Sundancer and Ballistic stood beneath the corpses.
What.
What are you guys doing here? And why are the heroes talking like they aren’t?
Did the Travelers find the corpses and report them, despite the risk of their own arrest?
A winged figure that might have been a gargoyle, demon or dragon was clutching to the sides of an empty window frame with three talons, the other reaching toward the homeless man. Genesis.
Right, that was the cape name of the pseudo-shifter.
“Pardon the cliche, but this isn’t what it looks like,” Trickster spoke.
Yeeah, this really isn’t something I’d expect from the Travelers.
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