Orson didn't have a clue as to what was going on, it was another day. Running from some cops, when suddenly he heard the loudest chopper ever. All he knew was that he became a big enough issue that they sent a military group after him. It's been a few days, and he has been wandering around aimlessly in a hoodie and sweats he stole from a random house. With a couple of bucks of cash that had been rationed over the days to give him a meal per day.

Not enough for most people, but he didn't give a fuck, he could always beat up some random thug for some cash. Walking along the street, the sun had set a couple of hours ago, and the cold chill of night had set in. Each breath could be seen in a puff of steam from Orson's thin lips. The thin layers of clothes and underwear which have not been changed for a week now, Orson was 100% freezing. Teeth chattering subtly, which he tried his best not to show.

Hands rubbing against each other constantly, trying to create any bit of warmth from the friction. If he froze to death, it wouldn't bother him much, but he would rather not go down that way. Orson ducked into an alleyway, spotting a ventilation system that had a slow seep of steam. Warm, steamy air that smelled foul, but it was warm. Lost in his thoughts, Orson almost was arrested right there.

If it weren't for the sudden gunshot, the body of a military officer. Obviously, from the group sent after him. Dropped right in front of him, with a thud. Orson swiveled around. Meeting face to face with the eyes of. A figure holding the gun that had just killed the soldier. "Holy shit!" Orson scrambled up, tripping over the body as soon as he stepped back. Landing on his ass with a thump.

"Back the fuck up! Who the fuck are you? Did the Rudd's send you?!" He snarled, staring up at the stranger.