[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/Jk9wrt1.png[/img][/center][color=#e3dac9][u][b][center]The Compound - Main Square[/center][/b][/u][/color][color=#e3dac9][u][b][center]Interactions - None[/center][/b][/u][/color]
"Willow, for fuck sake!" Came an all too familiar voice, spindly fingers gently holding a pen as its tip fluidly moved across a white surface. Despite a curious, beaked mask worn by the ghostly boy, obfuscating his visage, large obsidian eyes hidden behind black lenses appeared to note every skillful stroke of the pencil. Thin leather gloves which might have hindered his movement ever so slightly did not seem to oppose the motions as the young mutant drew, his attention fixed on the image coming to life upon the pages of his sketchbook. "We should be fucking the system!" It continued, a slender hand pointing forth as it indicated Willow's book, "not drawing!" Of course, for an onlooker, the odd young man dressed in a hoodie draped over a black plague mask appeared alone. Because he was. However, it would not be a lie to claim that he had endured brain damage from the process of beatings and abuse.

It was an upbringing shared by many denizens of the Compound, drawing Willow less unique than initially considered. However, it would be foolish to dismiss the lasting effects which had remained, as a result. Of these, Willow would point towards the shadowy creature accompanying him, an exact replica of the mutant, down to the most minute detail. The same mask, shirt and pants, the same shoes and the same voice, it was a reflection of Willow himself, one only he could see. One only he could hear. Now, that was quite understandable, if one considered the fact that the creature did not, in fact, exist.

Perhaps it had been one hit too many, to the head, but for Willow, this friend, this twin, was real. He was real enough to hear, see, touch and even smell. Real enough to be part of the waking world. "We're on break," came a response, Willow's voice a soft, raspy tune. He was sitting atop a large crate, its contents long since forgotten after being stacked alongside several others in a stone alcove. The accompanying bar was christened 'Wit's End', a name people had differing opinions on, clearly, which Willow was leaning against. It was one of the more significant attractions of the Compound's main square. A place where whiskey and beer tended to speak louder than words, Willow was rarely allowed inside for reasons related to his age, fifteen. Of course, this was where Bob made himself useful, the large man silent as death itself. A fitting metaphor, indeed. Bob had a story accompanying the muscular giant, his nearly seven feet of muscle relating to Willow in a past ending with a most ironic and elaborate twist.

A slave to the boy's will, Bob was no longer a person, no longer a creature who drew breath. He was merely a virus controlled by the smaller of the duo, a virus moving every dead limb now frozen in time. He was the accompanying adult, an excellent use of the undead servant, other than his more practical applications. "And we have no further orders," the boy shrugged as he spoke to the imaginary creature sitting beside him.

"Be self-sufficient," the reflection exclaimed, slapping his hand against Willow's shoulder. "Tell Bob to rip someone's spine out and bring it here like a fetch quest. It will be epic."

Pausing for a moment, the mutant boy halted his drawing as the words simmered within his mind. "Fetch.., oh right, video-games," he nodded before the rendering continued. It was quite a cozy corner, where he sat, Bob making himself known on an adjacent crate. Away from the busy movements of the Compound, but close enough to see the ever-fluid mass of people weave and shift in tune with passing time, Willow found himself most comfortable. It was a shadowy corner, by all respects, a place where one of a less honorable disposition would likely conduct adequately shady business. For Willow, the alcove was a good spot for relaxation amidst the buzz, as one would say. Indeed, despite enjoying the blanket of obscurity, Willow found himself drawn to others, as anyone would. For, what was a human, if not sociable? Indeed, human, the term was quite restricted, especially in the current climate. "And, I think there might be a few other issues with that," Willow continued, turning his masked visage towards the crowd, noting several Peace Keepers patrolling the area, "apart from the more obvious insanity." 

"You call it insanity," Willow's shade crossed its arms, "I call it fun."

"I call you unstable," the boy returned, turning his attention to the imaginary twin, before feeling a pat atop his head.

"Says the guy who made me," the reflection finished.