#violent things

He side-stepped the blood that had been collecting beneath the two criminals he’d shot, an inert patch of dark blue that had turned viscid and self-contained. It almost looked unnatural. Garrus nudged at the arm of Sledgehammer Guy with the toe of his boot; he could see more clearly the net of scars that overlaid his skin, encircling it like a gnarled shroud. He wasn’t sure why he’d nudged him—he’d shot him in the head after all, of course he was dead—but seeing him up close, in this gruesome repose, made him wonder how the bastard had managed to survive. The waves of mass starvation and violence, the tyrannical rule of those who controlled what little there was to have, living in a cursed catacomb. A slow, suffering survival. A grain of pity sprouted within him, then, just as suddenly, died. He dragged the tip of his boot across the floor to wipe a smear of blood away. He wasn't sorry they were dead—he was only sorry they hadn't died sooner.

I listened to Violent Things for the first time a little bit ago, and Goodnight, Socialite has inspired me in this spookiest of seasons

Second Boys Will Be First Choice save me