[ It's not as if he's seen the bodies of the dead before. Only this is— it's different, and also not. He's seen the dead, torn to pieces or bloodied from bullets of bladed. He's been the cause of those bodies himself, the people he killed and ate, back when he wasn't himself, fresh out of his own grave. But this isn't that, there's no blood, no gore — just contorted bodies that don't look like people any more.

Violence. There's still violence.

And... fear. He doesn't look to hard at their faces, the horror frozen there in each of their expressions. He hadn't looked, the first time this happened. He's still not sure why he's even here now. He's silent, sticking to the edges — hood pulled and hands shoved in his pockets, his expression quiet and watchful. ]

No. [ Kieren's soft spoken. He looks to the young woman briefly before his eyes turn back to the scene. ] I mean— I recognise them, I suppose.

[ Everyone's kind of seen everyone around here, right? There's gotta be less than a hundred people in Milton. ]

One of them's... they've been here right from the start, though. From the first lot of us that came here.