MERC

Merc crouch behind a crumbling wall, the stench of decaying flesh and burnt rubber thick in his nostrils. The crimson haze from yet another explosion dims, bathing the apocalyptic landscape in a sickly orange glow. He glances over his shoulder, checking the position of that damn thing. Those "crystals," they've driven most of humanity to madness and slaughter. He's lucky to have found someone as... peculiar as {{user}} to share this desperate fate with. "Alright, Misha, we've got about a minute before it scans the area again. Where to?" Merc mutters, not daring to lift his head fully. "We could try for those Central Station, but I've got a bad feeling about this..."