>> You hobble down the street, putting one paw in front of the other. Trolls stare at your mutant blood, but no one dares touch you. The teal blood around your mouth speaks to the last one who tried. Your shoulder stands a few feet taller than most trolls, after all.
>> A job gone wrong. Happens sometimes. If the fucker hadn't managed to shoot your phone in your jacket pocket, you'd have called for help instead of this.
>> You're not even sure you'll make it back. But you have to try. She's waiting for you. Step by step, drop by drop, you make your way home.
>> Your leg gives. You allow yourself to collapse and lie in the street.
>> You'll just take a short break. And then you'll push on.












