One more body lies upon the ground. They keep coming like cannon fodder, not caring if I was forced to take one of their allies in the nights before. I've killed twice now, and... I can't bring myself to regret doing it. I could have ran, but I didn't. Someone lost their life by my hand, and I don't really feel bad over it.
I'm changing, but for good or bad I can't tell.
I'm sticking around this town for a little while longer. I found someone; another Runner. She looks so scared, another person left adrift in a world of lies. If not for the fresh scarring of an operator symbol carved into her shoulder, I probably wouldn't have even noticed. My senses for spotting other Runners aren't that in tune, or so it seems.
I have to wonder, what goes on in someone's mind to bring them to the point of actually cutting that... thing... into their own flesh?