As yesterday, as tomorrow, he was ever-stomping through punctured concrete, bathing in tumorous neon lights. In a way it was bizarre, or even absurd, for this masqueraded beast to drag corpses through illuminated streets, but like every other monster robbed of night, he had learned to coexist with artificial day in a grotesque parasitic relationship reminiscent of that between a clown and his makeup, or a rioter and his crowd. Slumber was wasteful; waste was inexcusable. Diligence was the highest responsibility, to be deferred to at any cost. Therefore it had been decided by the people who know best that the sun should be punished for it's slothful cycles with wires, chemicals, and a low constant humming. The torture would continue until it learned to cooperate.

Clearly audible labored breathing, still and always ever-stomping, he punched jagged holes in solid ground behind him and left a wounded trail. On hysterical summer nights, he marked his footsteps with puddles and dry smears of blood. The crowd parted alongside him. They feigned ignorant blindness and an actor's enthrallment with assorted advertisements, or the idle chatter of their companions, or preoccupation with anything at all that wasn't important to the scene. Once the musk of death had passed, they would resume their lives, further desensitized for the experience.

He marched into unnatural shadows, in a strategically obscured alley on the streetside. The corpse still dragged behind him. He stepped out of sight. With a low grunt, he lifted the body, now significantly skinned from the journey, and carelessly threw it forward. It hit the wall with a soft thud, then collapsed into the dumpster below. There were no clumsy attempts to conceal the spectacle; it was meant to be discovered, mulled over and stared at, daftly prayed for and completely ignored.

Now unburdened, his mechanical stomp loosened into a lighter, more acrobatic gait. A more mocking gait. He stepped back into the literal limelight and smugly basked in its cold glare. Raise your gaze, and comprehend: anonymous force of nature, draped in black and rusty metal, grinning behind phosphorescent goggles and a throbbing steel mask. His breaths were heavy with sterilized bile, carrying the weight of mutilated dissent with every slothful hiss. He slid out his gun and, in the plain sight of hundreds of unblinking eyes, ran his wet tongue across the warm steel.

"There is nothing to fear. Should your right hand cause you to falter, simply cut it off, for it is better to lose a part of your shell than to roast in the fires of your own misdoing." He shoved his gun back into its holster. "There are fates far worse than death."

With that, he took his leave. Exit stage right.