[b]Moreland[/b]
Approximately 2100 Hours
Mountain City

"No, not from you." Moreland's lips curled into a telling smile as the vagrant onlookers, all in some various state of stupor or confusion, looked around.

"Well then who the-" The previously speaking man was pushed aside with enough force that has he hurled backward into a concrete pillar of the overpass, he whipped against it with enough force to stun him. He fell, back sliding against the surface and landed sitting, clutching the back of his head and exhaling sharply, the breath taken out of his lungs from the blow. The seemingly casual push of the stranger's hand, palm turning him aside, had tossed him with tremendous force.

The other three stood to, one sitting scrambling to his feet as this all unraveled before him and the other two. They were shaken, rightfully so, and one of them had his eyes widen to the point it seemed his pupils might consume the whole of his eyes at this rate. Whether it was their own mania or something else, they only knew deep down that the uncomfortable chill they felt down their spine was very real. The figure walked closer as one of them reached for a knife from his pocket and threatened with it, giving a string of curses as he fumbled about, and by the time he had the blade's point flick out and waved it around, the attacker struck him to the chest.

The man howled, howled with confused pain and only coherent enough to have staggered backward, clutching the deep gashes in the flesh before dropping to a knee; the knife clattering next to him on the ground as he used that previously busy hand to now balance himself. He bled from the uneven rending he received and was even more in a state of shock than he had been, speaking in rambling form between wounded breaths. 

"No, not you," Moreland kept walking right on by, another of the now victims cringing and wincing, he stopped at the man who had been sitting and who now slowly sat back down after having tried and failed to slink away, "You."

Unlike the others, who could not see what they were dealing with in actuality, the sheer terror in his expression indicated this one man could. The only other left kept quiet and against the wall, watching the two and the soon to be unfolding conversation. Moreland left him alone, at least for now, as it seemed he was not about to intervene and wisely so.

"James Palmer."

A few moments paseds as the two shared a long stare between one another, the fallen man quivering a bit and finally blinking.

"James Palmer."

The voice repeated to him, the same steady, unwavering voice addressing him as if speaking to his soul. The man finally nodded slightly, replying softly enough that over the rest of the ambiance of the city night hidden away as they were it would be hard to hear him, "That's... that's me." 

"I know," The stranger nodded back, "And I know that you can see me, too. So you know why I am here."

There was a moment of resistance that James gave before he was stared down into submission, having only managed a few meek words about delusions and hallucinations. However, he trailed off until he could not speak anymore as Moreland towered over him. The man kneeling, still clutching his injury toppled over behind the figure before James, having gone unconscious while the other against the pillar was trying to stand up slowly, concussed from the sudden stop the blow earlier left him with against the pillar; it seemed his focus and his grip on reality was more cemented now.

"What is it - what do you - what -"

"You know what I want, James. I want to know what you have seen." Moreland interrupted the incoherent loop that was building back up again in the terrified man's behavior. Before the man could protest again, there was a slow shake of the head from side to side, and an audible, commanding "no".

"You will do this, James."

"Or what?!" 

The outburst overcame the rest of the city's background as the effectively cornered man resisted, his voice echoing off the walls before it fell away into near silence. All the unsettling presence that came up until this point had been pervasive but now? Now it was as thick as a fog around the remaining three. It grew more terrible and tangible as a dim, translucent, smoky white corona burned from the slowly unfurling fingers that had been balled into a fist. More and more of the extremities disappeared until the metaphorical mists grew into a literal one, both figures having vanished into it before it dispersed, leaving only the voice in a far deeper, growled tone.

[i]"I tear it out of you and we go on a walk."[/i]