The most noticeable thing about the person casually draped over the threadbare sofa in front of me was the
attitude that he seemed to give off. His face held a permanent expression of either indifference or displeasure,
although neither seemed to have much affect on his appearance. He had bleached blond hair, with part of the
front dyed black and he was wearing a tank top, a white one tinged with grey, that had a paw print on the front,
his symbol. He was wearing long shorts, just past his knees. He was inconspicuous, just as he liked it.
He wasn't an old looking person, perhaps in his late teens, but the air of youthfulness that most people his age
had was long gone. I suppose this wasn't shocking considering what he had done, things that would make even
the most toughened of men shudder to think about.
You see, Marco Walker was a killer.
You wouldn't think it to look at him but he was a monster, ruthlessly destroying anything without question or
thought, incapable of most emotions.