The soup was cold, and rather tasteless, he thought. The noodles were undercooked and tasted like strips of rubber, while the broth wasn't nearly salty enough and had small grains in it that reminded him of slightly muddy water. Funny, considering beside the chipped bowl of soup was a bottle full of actual muddy water. He took a drink, naively hoping to quench his thirst, but was ultimately disappointed. Begrudgingly, he dipped his spoon back into the gruel, picking out a chunk of what seemed to be too-dry chicken. Too-dry was an understatement. With a sigh, he set the spoon down and lifted the bowl to his lips, sucking the terrible soup down with a wince. The thought crossed his mind that he should really learn to cook properly.
Setting the bowl down, he let out another sigh--this time one of relief--and exclaimed, "Delicious!" in a fake, child-like voice. A grin now painting his face, he stood to his feet and raised his arms above his head, stretching side to side and twisting his body. "What a wonderful meal," he continued in a tone of feigned satisfaction.
Suddenly a loud noise echoed throughout the rundown apartment: A loud, violent knocking sound sounded again and again, as if somebody was thrashing their arms against the walls. He groaned in irritation before scolding the source: "Hey quit it! Can't you see that I'm trying to eat here?! Jeez!" The noise continued, getting louder and more aggressive. He continued his stretches, touching his toes, then grabbing his ankles and twisting his body a few more times.
"Well then, I suppose it's time to get back to work." Lowering his arms again, his gaze fell on two items sitting in the corner of the dank, collapsing apartment kitchen. One of them was a simple knapsack, filled to the brim with various, and mostly useless, items. Inside were a collection of tin cans with dozens of old-world brands on them, each filled with interesting-looking scraps and rocks. There were one or two pieces of cloth ripped off of people's old clothes with cool logos, and a pretty wedding ring inside as well. In contrast to the first item, the second was both very not-simple and very not-useless. It was an ornate rapier, decorated with several gems and gold on the hilt, and the image of a bird spreading its wings as a pommel. If it were not for the grime the weapon had been exposed to, it would practically be glowing.
He treaded over to the blade, the floor squelching under his feet, and fastened its similarly-embroidered scabbard onto his waist. Then, he lifted the clanging, junk-filled sack onto his back and secured it with the buckle on his chest. The banging sound outside continued as he made his way toward the front door, his feet continuing to splash in the red puddles and chunks on the floor. After pulling open the half-torn-off-the-hinge door, he stepped outside and took a nice, deep breath through his nose. The air smelled strongly of iron: It was fantastic.
The banging started again, accompanied by a wailing sound this time. He turned his gaze to it's source: A creature with rotting, black skin. It's bottom jaw had split into four sections, all moving as individual mandibles with razor-sharp teeth. the skin on its chest had receded behind the bone, and the ribs had overgrown; twisting around the body into an almost-armor. The knees and elbows had spikes of crooked bone jutting out of them, and every other finger and toe had either a fingernail or similar bone-growth. And his favorite part was its eyes. Its pitch-black eyes were just like his: A portal into an endless void. A delicious endless void.
The reason it was banging so much was rather simple: It wanted free. Several minutes earlier, he had jammed a piece of bent rebar through it's chest, impaling it onto the wall. Seeing him seemed to make it angry, so it began thrashing more and more violently. "I'm truly sorry," he said in the same plastic voice, moving closer to it. "You see, sometimes it's hard to catch guys like you alive, so when the chance appears, I have to hang you up to..."
Now he stood in front of the angry monster, looking dead in its black eyes. As he placed his hand of the hilt of his blade, the beast suddenly reacted. With a screech, it's amalgamated ribcage ripped itself open, and the bones began twisting around the rebar, pulling and jerking desperately. The creature grew similar claws on its feet and hands, digging itself into the wall for support. Slowly-but-surely, the metal bar began to slide out of the wall and the creatures abdomen, inching toward his face.
A smile painted his face as he drew the ornate sword. With one hand, he pointed the tip at the center of its forehead. "... To keep you fresh."
