Underneath blood, swelling, and dirt, lay a man covered in injuries. Alive and breathing, but just barely conscious. She didn’t recognize him. He wore no shirt or shoes, and he’d curled himself up in a ball like a frightened child. As she surveyed the wounds and dire state of the man, who smelled of every bodily function imaginable, Ken noticed a small weapon in his hand. A makeshift dagger that looked to be a shard of a ceramic plate with dirty cloth wrapped around the base so as not to cut the user. White marks on the wall behind him revealed an attempt to sharpen the blade. He shivered but otherwise didn’t seem to know they were there.
First things first. Remove the threat. Keeping the gun trained on him, Ken crouched down and took hold of the knife. But the arm suddenly animated and turned over so that she couldn’t pry his fingers off. He moaned once more.