Philip Ojomo, or The Wraith, as he was now known, was stalking Autohaven for survivors. He didn’t do mercy, not anymore. Not since he’d been an unsuspecting accomplice to crime as a human, at the very same car scrapyard he was now hunting in.

A soft whisper in the breeze, combined with the toll of a rusty bell, gives away his position. Philip couldn’t tell what he was hunting for anymore, was it the endless guilt? Or was it because he enjoyed it now, admittedly, he didn’t think too much of it anymore.

His white eyes flicker over the surroundings idly. He must continue his work for The Entity. Philip didn’t need to talk anymore, his sacrifices were word enough.