DISHONORED: Weeping in the rain

Rain hammers down on the iron roof slats of the shelter. Gathered round a flaming barrel are two homeless men, George and Hiram.

“Nothing but water falling all day,” says Hiram.

“Better that than blood,” replies George.

“Why you always gotta bring things down to blood?” Snaps Hiram.

George says nothing. He’s looking to the rooftops where he thinks he just saw...something...moving? Did it move?

“George! Why you always gotta talk ‘bout blood?” Hiram looks behind him to the roof. Nothing. “There’s nothing up there. Just tiles.”

“Nah, I know,” says George. “Never is.”

“There’s too much down here on the ground.” Hiram sniffs the air, pauses, sniffs again. “Weepers.”

George looks panicked, Hiram suspects he looks just as scared. The two men gather up their belongings and begin to move away, just as a group of Weepers round the corner moaning. Their faces are screwed up with wet blood streaming from their eye sockets.

“Hiram! Hiram, where we gonna go?” George is trying to whisper, but the terror in his voice is making it come out in broken peaks of volume.

“Back here, come back here.” Hiram grabs George and the two men retreat into a short alleyway. They huddle together in silence.

There’s a soft impact noise from behind them, and they turn.

A figure in flowing dark robes stands behind them. And his face...is a skull. It’s obviously a mask, but the features are warped and broken. The rain is flowing over it and out of it from the eyes and mouth.

George and Hiram hold each other, shaking in the rain, waiting to see what the figure will do next.

George is happy it's raining, the drops of water are hiding his tears.