Two men stood, facing each other in the street.
The first wore black, the color broken only by a series of metal plates that ranged in size from a few inches to a foot across. They were attached to his strange outfit by crude leather straps. No part of his skin was visible. A heavy metal helmet obscured his face, broken only by a narrow slit, barely showing a pair of faded blue eyes. Tight leather gloves- black, of course- covered his hands. There was a large knife gripped firmly in his right fist. If one had the right mindset, they might imagine they could hear the sound as blood dripped from the blade and fell to the ground below, drop by drop.
The second figure wore more ordinary clothes, black slacks and a chocolate brown long sleeved shirt. There were signs of wear on the shoulder seams and a bit of fraying at the hem of the pants. Clearly, these clothes had been well kept but also worn frequently, old favorites. The second figure was of an age that he might be called a young man, but his frame was slight enough that most would probably call him a boy, regardless of his height. His hair was combed back, held in place with a little gel. His eyes were covered by mirrored sunglasses.
The young man spoke.
“I know what you are. Monster.”
His face and voice were utterly lacking in emotion. Not cold, that would have been better. They belonged to a dead thing. The other replied and his voice came as a tortured rasp.
“Yes.” There was no movement, aside from the dripping blood.
“You don’t even understand what you’ve done, do you?”
Shades of emotion crept into the boy’s voice, pain and anger and- and something else. If the man in black was bothered by this, he gave no sign, just tilted his head slightly without any other motion. It was eerie, more like a bird or an insect than a man.
“You’ve destroyed her!”
There was only hate in the boy’s voice, though his face had not changed from its alien, emotionless mask.