Survival was the first tactic. There were many object on the home, upon the dust and debris were remnants of unuse and destruction... The creeks of the door, the tumble of the knob even to the color of the walls were all condemned to wear and tear. Rust upon zinc ceiling and noted signs of entry could be sought with the footprints and broken glass. An unlocked home is an invitation, of course, to all of those who trail the streets with prying eyes. Intuition was the blend of such tactic. A ransacked home becomes territory of the world. It losses all purpose of value, the home is composed of objects and people and without the objects such functionality is lost, yet what thrives upon a home are the souls upon them. And so, the welcoming nature of Korvo's home was but a simple ruse to invite intrigue and much to their demise, to find disappointment. Korvo's home had not a thing of value, the lights were inoperable, the distant a droplet hitting bouncing onto a liquid surface continuously surface among silence. Cunning was the result of tactic, his foot continued down a muddied hall. And a bulb of light shone from the side of his helmet, upon reaching a room the door was twisted, torn and broken. But it would be too much to say that this was a means done by strangers, no... of course not. His hands traced upon the pad on wrist. Soon a light shone which enveloped the room and a small compartment on the outer wall facing away from the entrance. There, an automated voice welcomed the youth upon the screen on the inner helm, before the reveal of his weapons and armor were upon full display. A building, destroyed holds no value to those who have all. Therefore this mess, this chaos was intentional. To avert the eyes of the myriad, to avoid the eyes of thieves of both livelihood and goods. His home was a garage, nothing more, nothing less. The compartment was small, only Korvo could fit and shift from one side to the next. First was the protective gear.
The knee pads and boots demonstrated signs of use. The distinctive scratches enveloped its designed and told the story of battle. Perhaps he ran across a mountainous region and fell, or a foe bested his defenses and managed to connect on them. The breast plate, as it would, was one more commonly seen upon militarized personnel. It was rather simpler however, perhaps it wasn't as protective as well. However it enabled movement, it allowed for ease on the joints and core. Getting it on was not the problem, but righting its tightness was. Perhaps he has gained much more pass on the passing months, or maybe even lost a few. The weapons, a single brief case that was at the end of the small compartment. Standardized pistol and combat knife. Not much to go on, a couple of ammo stocks for the road. He didn't know the danger of the situation but similarly he wouldn't underestimate. Sign of such would leave to quick death, and much more to a death of other people. Korvo assumed he wouldn't be on this alone, of course he wouldn't. The alarm was sent, much would rush for the opportunity... and the credits. And finally, a hooded shawls. Nicely kept and black, nothing fancy at all. Simply to add to his mystery. In a world where everything is so over exposed, keeping a secret held much value. And he didn't feel the need to expose much of himself.
Preparations were as complete as they could be. The compartment closed and the youth was met with the other half of a destroyed home, removing the bed, he took the cellar to the outside, hiding his pace from any who would attempt to follow. Finding himself to the world, the helmet gave the signs of the compartment door closing. A sigh, a look upon the sky and a long walk to the destination. Perhaps getting a ride would be the next thing he would do, provided the credit were enough.
Time slipped through his fingers, and Korvo found that there was transport. A small bus ride allowed him and other members of Helston to arrive. But the visage of everything seemed grim. People were scouring and trembling in their boots. Other ran on the other direction and already signs of blood and death permeated the seams. What had happened? Korvo pressed his fingers on the side of the helmet; nothing of use was posted on the notice boards or anything of the like. Something was terribly odd, different. A myriad of possibilities began to surface, but the best option that would resolve his query was to ask an official. Seemingly, he wasn't alone in such a thought. Before long he began to search of a captain a lieutenant or someone in charge. To no avail, the sounds of men and women in distraught and the insipid chatter continuously began to plague the area. Korvo figured, they were bait at this junction. "Sergeant?"
A faint chatter, not so distant caught his ear. A youth spoke to a man who fidgeted on his step, he couldn't make out the details and so he pursued him, to realize he had made his way beyond the perimeter. "Hey, wait!" Korvo attempted to reach him, and only found himself standing next to the young woman who was previously speaking to the man. A nod, and a turn, not all was lost on this moment. A better look on her features, although much of what Korvo interpreted was seemingly the eyes. They held a softness to them, peculiarly so. Shoulder length hair, and a complexion which soothed the flair of her cheeks. "Did he say anything? About the situation we have?"
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