[right][h2]The Cull[/h2][@Tlazolteotl][/right]

[i]A shoot-out. Men dying. Children screaming. A bomb was set-off at his position.[/i]

Morgan was a dull man; cow-boy's hat to keep the sun from his eyes, cybernetic arms to replace the old, shaggy brown hair and tired eyes with bags from too much drinking. He could use a drink, maybe a bourbon, maybe a cigar. His body crashes into Catharsis--for him, it's a rusty bar, a bit run-down and downtrodden--it's only made worse with the human-sized hole in the wall. He groans as he plucks wooden chips from his chest, surveying the insides of the bar and it's inhabitants.

Surprisingly, he isn't dead. 

[color=#8B4513]"This is gonna be a mess."[/color]

Unsurprisingly, he wished he had died instead.