“I’m looking for the betrayer Marcus,” Angelo said. The soft glow of a cigarette was the only indication of a presence in the shadows.
“What do you want with me?” replied a voice that sounded like gravel tumbling in a steel drum.
“I was told you survived the Death Squads. I was told you know something of their weakness.” Angelo stood up a little straighter, pushed his chest out a bit further.
“You are a fool. A heroic fool looking for glory where only death awaits.” He paused, crushed out his cigarette and lit a fresh one. “What do I care. Your death won’t be on my head, but know this, the Death Squads don’t kill any more. I was merely the first victim of their new power.”
Angelo took a step back, “And what power is that, betrayer?”
“They rip your soul from your body, turning you into an empty shell to waste away.” Marcus shuffled forward, slowly emerging from the shadows. His skin like dried, cracked earth, eyes deeply recessed, a stench of rotting flesh so thick it was almost visible to the naked eye.