arlo . two [cb -- fin]

A  R  L  O  –

Pops had six Peacekeeper scalps to his name when they finally cornered him in the woods surrounding Two, dirt and blood stains worn on his clothes like badges and a smirk on his face. Steel to skull and they told him they would shoot him right there if he moved a muscle, smirk to lips and he said they'd be gunning down every damn thing he had to offer them. 

Turning against everything you've ever known pays well as long as you know how to market it.

Thumbprints, identifications, dim lit rooms and a million questions later and a place that was long thought dead was now fresh on the table, secrets spilled and a new life gained and the word BASTERD scrawled in black ink when they asked him to provide a last name, scowl and sigh and too many pushed buttons and Pops walked free with bloodstains still on his clothing.

Sell your soul and watch the coins fall into the empty space it leaves, all gold and silver and coated in blood and rust. It's why Pops went from scalping Peacekeepers to helping them for the time being, from wanderer to thug for hire in the outskirts of Two. It's why violence runs in our blood and steel in between our fingers, black ink shoved under the skin for every success and a split lip worn as a badge of every failure. It's why we're dead-beats, rugged, ruthless and something that will forever be better off dead. I beat 'em senseless and carve my namesake into their skin as a reminder, blood and guts, everything glory and nothing guilty.

Easy to be hollow when you were never designed to have a soul in the first place.