— ⚡ @shockthem . ❜
“CARTER.” IF THERE’S ONE killer in the fog that has a certain degree of Macmillan’s respect, it’s the doctor. He can appreciate the man had some rather unusual methods with his patients, but if there’s someone with a death toll in life remotely close to his, then it’s the madness-educing murderer of the Institute, a real TWENTY FIRST CENTURY SLAUGHTERER. No-one else has ever installed the levels of fear and uncertainty the way Herman has, not since MACMILLAN, and Evan can admire that to a degree. He’s still the Entity’s favoured, of course, still the king of the castle, the oldest of all the worker bees that thrive to feed the Goddess --- but if there was ever someone he may consider his equal in success ( blood, guts, and screams! ) then it would be him.
“Admirable work t’day, out there. Four man score, so I heard.” Macmillan’s dry rasp filters through the jagged maw of his mask, busy cleaning the blood from his blade against the rough, leather-like skin of his forearm, riddled with scar marks. “Exactly what I like to hear.” He’s been putting pressure on the others, since the Entity installed the cube method in order to feed. Failure is not an option --- least, not in his eyes. Failure results in a hunger unfed. Unfed hunger results in starvation. And he will not stand by, hopeless, as the love of his life wastes away to nothing. “Th’ Wraith could learn a lot from you.”
