"Oh, my. You seem to have yourself in quite the predicament here."

Douma spike up from in the open doorway of a small cabinet home, it seemed to be. In front of him, the scene of a.. little infant child, was it called? A small human child tried reattaching their father's arm back on, the child's face splattered with specs of blood as she babbled out the repeated word, daddy.

Douma found it amusing how this little human infant didn't seem to care about the death of their concluded father, in fact, to Douma it seems like the little human is playing around with the detached and almost shredded limps. In Douma's head.. this little human is just like him! Maybe it feels no emotions.

"We can just leave you here to die now, can we?" Douma smiles, "C'mon, we've gotta go."

Douma watches as the little infant ran to a assumed previous hiding spot, returning with some sort of stuffed and worn out toy. Ooo, this little one was cold. Douma has no idea that it's just a little toddler being an innocent little toddler.