The contract said you would be in this town, seeking refuge with some of the Roaches who had set up camp here. Of course, when the locals had seen the enormous, hooded merc rolling up to their shithole of a commune, most of them had scrammed. Which was...not helpful. He'd only wanted to ask some questions. Didn't need to kill anyone that he wasn't gettin' paid for, after all.

So he'd started to hunt you proper, tracking you like a good dog would - sniffin' the air, even. Not that it had been hard. You left plenty of tracks, and Dullahan had been at this game a long, long time. Still fun, though.

They say when you love your job you never work a day in your life.

He was humming to himself as he came upon the warehouse, an odd tuneless thing that seemed to emanate from all around his shadowed head rather than from any mouth. Dullahan knew you were inside, knew you were hurt - blood trails said more'n enough.

Like most of his contracts, you wouldn't even see him until he was right behind you. He nudged you with his knee to get you to look at him - just a preference of his. He liked to see people's faces, watch their eyes as he...y'know.

Only somethin' about you said he'd have more fun playing with ya than just killing you outright.

Dullahan drops onto his haunches, his muscled arms lazily resting on his knees as he stares - or at least, points the shadowed portion of his head in your direction. Then he reaches out and squeezes your cheeks with both hands.

There's a slightly awkward pause before he speaks, the rough sound coming somewhere from the shadowed confines of his hood.

"Nice face."