Setting
The structures themselves reflected a long history of turmoil. In some places buildings were patched from explosions, in others just the foundation remain. Between the deli's sat bunkers, and even the yards of the residents boasted doors to underground escapes, their roofs holding turrets high. Either way, it was apparent by the architecture that Wing City would be standing for a while.
Like any suburbopolis, the traffic was horrible. The only real time to drive was at night, when the hover-bike gangs and hot-rodders took their wheels for a spin.
Setting
0.00 INK
It wasn't anywhere special, by no means something important, and the noise made by the crack of the portal and the thump on the ground would be missed, much like every occurrence there.
The man, if it was a man in the armor, slowly stands up, reaching up to his face to remove the blank mask, revealing a pallid, sweat-covered face. Walking over to the "kitchen" area, really a small corner, he sets the mask down on a small folding table, then begins to slowly remove the suit, plate by plate. It was a long process, designed to take decent time away from those that didn't understand it, something he himself designed.
Eventually, the suit is removed, and Lewis, the man underneath, is revealed. He stumbles over to the shower, and begins to clean himself, spending most of it with his head against the wall.
Fuck.
He wanted to sleep, and when he gets out he does, spending a few minutes lying on the small cot.
He had somewhere to be, unfortunately. It was important, too, so it wasn't really something he could miss.
He forces himself up, dressing himself in the ever-present black shirt, blue jeans. Best to look like a regular person, at least for this.
Time to get up, get going.
At least if it was really bad, he could sleep on the bus.