[ When Steve looks at the recently raised dead wandering around the bombed-out parts of the city, he can't find it in him to find it gross or even disturbing. It's sad more than anything else, that these people had been killed on nothing more than the whim of some distant queen, are now they're being forced from their makeshift graves by some so-called old gods.
Still, something needs to be done about them. It's rare for them to even be aggressive, given that most of them were civilians, but there are a few here and there that do lash out. Even those that don't, though, can't be left to simply shamble around like this. With their rotten skin, who knows what kind of infection they could spread?
So Steve's been on patrol, doing what needs to be done and putting them to rest once more. It's not hard to track them, and he's been walking a methodical route through the most damaged parts of the city.
Up ahead, he hears the telltale sounds: dragging gaits, unintelligible noises. A few bodies hitting the ground. And... something going up in flames?
He rounds the corner just in time to get a lit-up hand pointed right at his face like it's a smoking gun. Steve's arms shoot up to show he means no harm — not to the living, anyway — and then he realizes it's Ciri. It's a relief that he recognizes her, that he isn't mistakenly seeing some other face. ]
Well, I appreciate you not. [ He smiles wryly, then looks to the group of undead stumbling around further down the street, along with the one flaming corpse. ] Want a hand? [ She may not need it, but it will make the work go faster. ]
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Still, something needs to be done about them. It's rare for them to even be aggressive, given that most of them were civilians, but there are a few here and there that do lash out. Even those that don't, though, can't be left to simply shamble around like this. With their rotten skin, who knows what kind of infection they could spread?
So Steve's been on patrol, doing what needs to be done and putting them to rest once more. It's not hard to track them, and he's been walking a methodical route through the most damaged parts of the city.
Up ahead, he hears the telltale sounds: dragging gaits, unintelligible noises. A few bodies hitting the ground. And... something going up in flames?
He rounds the corner just in time to get a lit-up hand pointed right at his face like it's a smoking gun. Steve's arms shoot up to show he means no harm — not to the living, anyway — and then he realizes it's Ciri. It's a relief that he recognizes her, that he isn't mistakenly seeing some other face. ]
Well, I appreciate you not. [ He smiles wryly, then looks to the group of undead stumbling around further down the street, along with the one flaming corpse. ] Want a hand? [ She may not need it, but it will make the work go faster. ]