Tank was tired. Tank was footsore. Tank reckoned he needed new shoes because the old ones were waring thin and there is only so many holes that can be plugged with bits of card. Tank needed to rest. No, Tank needed a fix. Maybe Tank needed both. Tank needed to go home.

Tank could only hold small thoughts in his head these days. They were closer to instincts than actual cognitive processes, such was the state of his mind, fried with drugs and pickled in alcohol. Always tired for the dreams took him back to places he'd rather not be: places of dust and heat and unfriendly eyes. Of all the things Tank had kept, he had kept the medals the longest - safe in a tin box hidden away in the folds of his coat.

Tank didn't like to share. If people saw the way he started shivering and mumbling in the dark, they would eat him alive. So he'd resolved never to share his "home". Not with strangers. Certainly not with stranger's he'd never seen before and who were from 'out of town'. Yet here he was. Close to sundown and sitting cross legged next to Tank's spot near the overpass.

The big guy (for Tank was still big, even if he was getting leaner by the year) barely noted how the intruder had left his stuff alone. Tank didn't care. Fear drove the big man. If he had an episode and this stranger let it out, then his reputation would be shot and all the respect fear he'd built up over the years would vanish and he'd be as vulnerable as the next homeless guy. For his own security, he had to move the newcomer.

"Hey, piss off. My patch."

"Hey. Fuck off. My patch."

"I said move, fucker!"

"Fucker!"

Tank moved closer. His voice raised with each sentence. Somewhere along the way he picked up a broken bottle from amid the clutter and started waving it around. To no avail. Normally, Tank's size and ravaged voice was enough. Stinking, wild eyed, waving broken glass in his fist, he was a sight fit for a slasher movie - had he been able to recall one.

To no avail. The newcomer appeared to be dozing. Or looking passed him with a vacant slack jawed look. It was hard to tell in the shrinking light and thickening shade.

"I'm talking to you, asshole!"

Fast running out of options, Tank simply shoved the guy.

And thats when it happened.

  
Date Action Roll Result
2017-07-07 23:57:29 Hector to put the Fear on rolls 7 to Presence + Intimidation (10 Again) 3, 2, 7, 9, 8, 1, 5 2 successes

The newcomer's head snapped round. His eye's bulged and glared with baleful intelligence at Tank. Through Tank. The man's lips peeled back revealing broken teeth and a long, lolling, tongue as he growled. It was an animal growl, by no means the strangest thing Tank had heard coming from the mouth of a homeless guy. But it was enough to make him back up, back away.

The way the stranger continued to look at him, as though Tank was the only thing in his world worth noticing. And the stranger continued to stare, his mouth twisting into an atavistic maw as he if hungered for Tank's hide itself.

"Fine! I'm going on my rounds again. But when I get back you best be gone, fucker, you here!"

Tank's voice quavered as he issued his ultimatum. He moved off, grumbling, his memories already fading and twisting. Yeah, gotta check on rivals mates before they settle for the night. When he returned, later, to his little camp, the other guy had gone.

That night Tank was disturbed by a large dog.