Slats of artificial light were pouring through the blinds of your room window, striping his figure. You could just about see the menace flashing across his eyes like a flare in the night sky. You would ask him how it went, but you didn't really care to know, him coming back through the door alive was enough for you. And he didn't really care to tell you, he wasn't a man for words in these moments. He never was.

He was hungry. He was starving. A state of primal being. Practically growling as he spoke.

"If you don't want to look, I'll turn you around."