Ah, Revachol. The city of thousands of different experiences, and thousands of different negative opinions about cops. It's a great place to live for some. Not so much for others. Especially when you're a twelve-year-old boy living with a dad who hasn't left the couch in three days in an apartment that hasn't had electricity in over a year. But Cuno didn't care. He didn't give a shit. Cuno had other things to think about, like how he was going to land a shot on this old asshole.

Cuno stood in front of the corpse hung from the tree in the derelict patch of land behind Capeside Apartments, the corpse that had been there for the fourth day now. For some people, this would have been cause to call the police. For Cuno? Target practice.

He took a step back and flung another rock square in the middle of the man's rotting, bloated chest mottled with bruises. Cuno imagines that most of them were from his impeccable aim, but some of them were already there. Another lynching. Not uncommon, but uncommon enough that he suspects the pigs will show up soon.

So when Cuno heard the familiar shuffle of someone entering in through the fence, his first reaction was to tell them to fuck off.

"What the fuck are you doing here?! This is Cuno's territory. Fuck off!"