It felt like everything hurt today.  His feet had long since stopped developing blisters, but they seemed to ache with fatigue twice as much to compensate.  The scar tissue over his left eye socket itched like crazy, and sweat developed uncomfortably on the tender, burned flesh of his cheek and forehead.
He kept a hand draped lazily on the butt of his revolver, holstered on his hip.  It made him feel a little better.  He always walked on the left side of the road, so if anything tried to cross from the right he wouldn't be blind to it.  He had come to take due caution when passing alleyways, always slowing down to turn his head an survey.  One of the perks of being half-blind.

Quinn had been following the signs cautiously.  He knew what to look for, and there was no doubt in his mind that the Blood Army were nearby.  As hot as his contempt for them burned, he knew it was folly to engage them.  At least not until he knew how many were there.
A sudden scrape, as though someone walking across rusted steel, jolted him from his concentration.  He cursed silently as he ducked behind some debris for cover.
A figure, some three hundred metres down the road hopped off the roof of a car, made it's way to a small building.  
He didn't look like Blood Army, but chances meant certain death if they were taken.

Quinn made his own climb, and carefully began traversing rooftops to close the gap between him and the mystery figure.
He had the drop on him, he could put a bullet in his skull right now and then flee.
[i]Damn it to hell!  I ain't like that anymore![/i]
He screamed internally.  He had done all he could to shed his violence, but once you crossed the line there was no going back.  
He took a slow, steadying breath and held his revolver up with both hands.
In a quiet, yet firm voice he said, "Simple question.  Are you Blood Army?"  He awaited the response with a trembling trigger finger.