[center][h2][color=a36209]David Levitski | Haven[/color][/h2][/center]
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A sigh left David as he walked forward, hands shuffled in his pockets, the morning light blaring down on him. David Levitski had been up long before the sunrise, a sort of habit that the aged detective had previously programmed into his everyday functions. The events leading up to where he was now didn’t change it. Apocalypse be damned, it wasn’t going to change how he operated and functioned no matter how old he got. Then there was the thought that he wouldn’t have a choice about it when the time came, especially with the physically demanding role that David lived for decades— eventually at the end of the line it would all catch up with him unless he was exceptionally lucky. David quickly dismissed such a stupid thought.

Because that was what the thought was: stupid.

The chances are that he was already falling apart, he just didn’t know it. He refused to see some “doctor” at the camp they had set up here at Haven, and it wasn’t out of some fear of doctors or medicine; it was out of a feeling of extreme apathy. If he was going out, it was pointless to worry about it and honestly? He couldn’t care any less if it was painful or painless when it came. There was a void out there when it would happen and it wouldn’t really matter one way or the other. This line of thinking wasn’t one that came out often, but when it did it certainly put him harshly against those who believed in heaven and god.

But to David if they had an issue with how he thought it was their problem and not his. Not exactly a “team player” line of thinking, but sometimes you had to be honest with people and not sugarcoat how you felt. That kind of bottled up anxiety only led to you wanting to jump off a cliff and go splat against the pavement below. The sort of anxiety that had caused people to meet their supposed maker plenty of times before… and that was before the epidemic that they called an “apocalypse” happened.

A sigh left David as he walked forward, hands shuffled in his pockets as he heard a commotion in the house across the church-- seemed like they were into it again. Leaning against a shoulder-tall wooden fence he wondered what argument it was about this time… probably the same as last time. 

“[color=a36209]Again?[/color]” He muttered as he waited for the door to fling open.