🪓 @fortitudina liked for a starter
Once upon a time, Nicholas Hatcher was the best boxer in Old City. Then, a jealous rival called the Walrus sent his men to slay his wife and daughter. Mad with grief, Nick took an axe and slaughtered their killers until the walls were red with their blood, and the Hatcher of Heathtown was born. A decade in the asylum did nothing for his madness, but when the asylum burned around him, Hatcher escaped and resumed his work of ridding Old City of evil. There was no distinction in his mind when the Fog overtook a patch of his corrupt city. It all looked the same to him, and if he switched from painting the cobbled streets red with his axe to hanging innocents from a hook, he could no longer tell the difference. The blood was all the same color, and they all wore the faces of the men who had murdered his family.
The sound of the metal axe grated along the floor, signaling his approach. It was early in the hunt. No screams had yet rung out, no bodies writhed on hooks. The longer the hunt went on, the more erratic he got, the bloodlust taking over until he could see nothing but red. But for now, there was still time to reach him. A familiar face, the right plea, or best of all, an invocation, could remind him who he really was and guarantee a safe exit, the Entity thwarted for a night, but unfortunately the effect never carried. As soon as the Fog swept back in, he forgot again, doomed to start all over. As they all were. A generator glowed red ahead, and purposeful steps took him toward it. A swing of the axe sent it sparking and sputtering, and he turned, already searching for the next target.
