Crumbling detritus littered the area around the slums. Decay and rust were the common flora and fauna; shades of brown and green decorated the landscape, as if painted by an artist that never knew the proper hues associated with life. Such was existence outside the dome.
Steadying a shaking hand, Vincent Law clutched the document in his fist carefully. His clan was relying on him. There could be no true victory in avenging what Romdeau had perpetrated on them, but sometimes revenge was just as sweet. The pale vixen, prized daughter and symbol of depravity, would know the justice that was denied the people exiled from the dome.
Vincent shivered. His tattered cloak offered scant protection against the harsh climate of the barren and wasted surface. Further compounding this was his latent weakness, a side-effect from the barbaric human experiments conducted on his people. Vincent wasn’t quite sure whether he was totally human anymore; there was a beast inside him now, a terrib