<div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 26px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">Caanan</span></span><br/>
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<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 255, 255)"><span style="font-size: 26px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">Earlier That Week</span></span></span></i>​</div><br/><div style="text-align: center"><br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff">Caanan stepped carefully over the asphalt pavement of the outstretched road before him, or what remained of it at least. Littered with the remnants of the past; skeletal remains of cars, trucks, and other vehicles, as well as an assortment of debris such as rocks and downed power lines. Fortunately, the powerlines no longer were being fed electric power and he didn't have to worry about the several-thousand volts that would normally pass through the lines. The road itself was a mess. Perforations peppered the sediment, ranging from some ankle deep to other holes that appeared like someone had stuck a stick of dynamite in a crack and set it off, blasting a crater two meters wide and a meter deep into the ground.<br/>
<br/>
But, these cavities weren't made by mere dynamite, no; they were made by bombs and explosions of an extraordinary magnitude.  The kinds that blew helicopters out of the sky like swatting at them as though they were mere flies, and snapped wood power poles like toothpicks.  The machinations that had occurred over a hundred or so years ago, and gave rise to the tribes of man still seen today with their primitive weaponry and less than stellar aptitude for survival, still echoed throughout the wastes as if it were a gunshot resounding through the canyon that was this world now. Though, there were still humans who clung to the old world and all its trappings. They tinkered and experimented; often times creating abominations and terrors, the likes of which could be hard to match, even in nightmares. Such creatures haunted old ruined cities like specters, reminders of a bygone era and man's folly which saw the world bleed itself dry.<br/>
<br/>
Caanan himself was apart of that attempt to play God with the life on Earth. Beneath the layers of para-amid synthetic fibers, stood a presumably human frame. Presumably. Tall, statuesque, and unrelenting vigor despite the ghost pallid skin were the hallmarks of something...more. Much more. Though Caanan held the appearance of a lean-figured and arguably wiry, adult male in his mid to late twenties, other characteristics belied his unnatural abilities. It was true, he was a muscular, and well-toned for a man, more so than most. But his feats of strength and dexterity would seem superhuman or at the very least, enhanced. Most would attribute this to the very rare exception that he may have had cybernetic implants. But that by itself was a feat; most technologies had been lost. Moreover, he didn't seem to have even the crudest of attachments that might explain away his augmented abilities.<br/>
<br/>
Though most did not realize it, for all body armor, bullet-resistant mask and the heavy biker boots that had a haunting effect to the spurs that produced a pronounced 'jingle' with each step he made. Like a death knell or a sobering bell toll that played and preyed on the psyche. He was the so-called "Albino" that had rumors buzzing that he ate people; gutting them like a deer or roasting them like a pig over a spit. Though the rumors were true, what wasn't was the fact he'd eat anyone. Caanan only ate those that he deemed 'rude'. But, even then, you had to be truly insidious in your behavior towards the man to incur such a punishment. Most of the time, he lopped off a hand or an arm with his crude meat cleaver that he made from a lawnmower blade. The edged was deliberately gnarled and notched so it could cut through ligament and bone with unsettling ease. Sometimes though, he'd just shoot you dead.<br/>
<br/>
Caanan had several guns on him when venturing like he was. For range, he preferred his XM8 PDW (Personal Defense Weapon). He had three different barrels of varying lengths, from 9 to 20-inches. This allowed him to switch between a compact carbine to a long-range precision rifle, and even a squad-automatic weapon that could fire upwards to 750-rounds per minute. His weapon had an M320 Grenade launcher mounted under the barrel that could fire a 40mm explosive warhead. Where he went was often dangerous enough to warrant such heavy duty fire support as it was by himself with no back up--and in cities, like the one was coming from, they were usually crawling with hostile flora and fauna.<br/>
<br/>
For close-ranged combat, he chose a Remington 870 pump-action shotgun with a bandolier that carried 25-shells and a bracket that folded over the long, cylindrical barrel that held another six shotshells. But not all the shotshells had deer slugs or even shot in them. Some were painted a different color. These were specialty shells. He could shoot a fireball-like explosion out the end or sabot rounds, or even shoot flares at a distance to see where he was going. Even though seeing in the dark was much easier for him than it would be a typical person. Should his first two guns be damaged or knocked away from him, he always had a spare. In this case, it was a Glock 21 SF that fire .45ACP rounds. Should that not work, he always had his cleaver and his tomahawk strapped to either leg. That was always comforting.<br/>
<br/>
So, what did a man like him do for a living? He went into highly infested areas in search of untapped caches. He wasn't a salvager per say, his work had him going after stockpiles of guns and other armaments. Be that modern weapons like pipe rifles, weapons from the past like his Remington and XM8, or even deadlier still beam weaponry--though the latter was becoming more scarce and few had the money to buy such weapons. Even Caanan, who found the weapons, could not readily afford them. He mostly stayed within the realm of shotguns assault rifles and pistols--though there was a lever action rifle he'd been meaning to get his hands on and with the haul currently in his possession, he believed he could finally get it. The weapon in question was Henry 45/70 All-weather lever-action rifle. It was a beautiful weapon to be sure.<br/>
<br/>
An American Walnut stock and foregrip; plated steel barrel with a sating finish. It could fire a 405-grain bullet with 3,449 foot-pounds of force and take down a moose at 100 yards. The only real downside was that it only held 4 rounds. He could always carry more, of course, but he wasn't sure about reloading in a pitched battle where time was essential. He could always go for the Henry Deluxe which fired the .44-40 WCF round. Not nearly as powerful but held 13 rounds instead of 4. While debating the matter internally, he hoofed it back to Oasis. It would take him about 115 hours to trek back to the settlement.</span><br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff"><br/>
=================================================================================</span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 26px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">Presently</span></span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff">Caanan entered the settlement of Oasis by nightfall. It was much too late for bargaining, he would have to do that tomorrow.  He stopped in front of the saloon, considering a drink before he rested his weary head on a dusty, dilapidated pillow. Deciding it was not worth the risk of being exposed, his pale skin was as noticeable as the moon in the night sky--you couldn't unsee it. He turned towards the hostel and trudged onwards.  Carrying the duffle bag up the old steps of the inn Caanan stopped a foot away from the reception desk.<br/>
<br/>
<i>"That'll be two silver or two chits," </i>the receptionist said, not even paying Caanan no mind as he continued to read the old magazine for the millionth time. That was until heard a loud 'thud' on the dusty hardwood floor like a body was to suddenly come crashing down hard upon it.<br/>
<br/>
 It was then he looked up to see a towering figure clad in black mullet-resistant Kevlar and Nomex. A black mask with dark eyes that glimmered a deep shade of red met with his face as the figure before him outstretched a large hand and sat down four nuggets of silver. Two days ought to be enough rest for the wicked. Giving Caanan his key with a shaky hand, he watched as Caanan leaned down and with that same hand grabbed the overstuffed duffle bag and hoisted it off the ground. He then treaded up the stairs and to his room.<br/>
<br/>
Opening the door to the quaint room, the bed hardly big enough for the six-foot-six man he sat the bag of firearms down in a corner set to the task of removing the layers of body armor. With each layer removed, he exposed more and more of his pale frame to the moonlight. His arms barely flexed and revealed many contours and 'mounds' that made them strikingly robust. Chest abdomen and sides rippled with a serpentine-like musculature to it as it went from his broad shoulders and taper to his narrow hips. His body had amassed a profoundly detailed physique; wearing layers upon layers upon layers of Kevlar, Nomex, and even ceramic composite body armor, had conditioned his body to be unyielding to the sight and appear as powerful as he truly was.<br/>
<br/>
Caanan took off his helmet and masks last, revealing ruby colored eyes that would seem to glow in the pale moonlight, and a deathly white head of hair. First was the bullet resistant face mask which only had two eye holes and a mouth opening--then the neoprene face cover. He laid the two down next to his helmet as he stared at the reflection of a pale man with unnatural features staring back at him. He then heard a scuffle outside his door and despite his size, stepped slowly and carefully towards the door. Sensing danger, he readied himself.<br/>
<br/>
The door flung open, and there in wait were four men; rugged and middle-aged. They had 'rough' beards that covered most of their faces. The dust from the sandstorms covered their brows and much of their clothing. Three of them were wearing cattleman's hats, and all four had a red bandana coiled around their necks. Sweat was oozing from their foreheads from the heat of the night.<br/>
<br/>
<i>"Alright you bitch, I tried to be reasonable the last time, but this time I'm--" </i>The lead man stopped in his tracks staring up at Caanan who was nearly a foot taller than himself.<br/>
<br/>
Red infernal eyes glared at him and it took the man all but a second to realize this wasn't only not the right room, not only was he staring at a man but one clad in the palest skin he'd ever seen. The intruder went to shoot Caanan who, in reflex, slammed a palm against the man's forelimb brusquely forcing it against the door frame, snapping it in half with a sickening 'crunch'. A compound fracture revealed the truth of how bad the break truly was. He screamed, the holler emanating through the establishment, flooding the halls and sweeping down the stairs. An abrupt halt to the scream came when Caanan grabbed the side of the man's head and decidedly caved the other half in by slamming his head off the door frame.<br/>
<br/>
Caanan, now in full-on attack mode, grabbed his hatchet and buried in the second man's skull as he fumbled to get his gun free, panicked by the onslaught--pick first. He then threw it at the third man who fled down the hall towards the stairs. He couldn't let them leave, alive anyway. It lodged itself into the man's spine, not killing him but making him slump to the ground. The fourth man ran the opposite way, trying each door, finding them locked as Caanan marched slowly down the hall, stalking him. His booted feet created a terrifying apprehension with each jingle of his spurs ringing the closer he got.<br/>
<br/>
The fourth man, one Walther, grabbed the door handle at the end of the hall. Finding it unlocked he tried to enter. As he did, he was met with Kade before a large pallid hand gripped his face followed by one gripping his jaw. Caanan snapped the man's neck with ruthless efficiency. Walther's jaw dangled before he dropped to his knees. His eyes fixated in terror as he exhaled then went face first into the floorboard. Red eyes now stared at Kade from the darkness of the hall. The shadows seemingly congregated around Caanan's vicinity not allowing the light of Kade's room to permeate and illuminate the truth. Only his carmine colored orbs glistened as they reflected the light that caught them.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff0000"><i>"You saw, nothing. You heard nothing. Is that understood?" </i></span><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff">Caanan growled at the woman.<br/>
<br/>
The darkened silhouette of the man before her leaned forwards, arm outstretched towards the body that lay on her floor.  Coming into the oil lamps incandescent glow, revealed an impossibly pale figure that was both masculine and terrifying. The man loomed over her but briefly, but it was enough to send sinister sensations creeping up her back. It as reminiscent of a lion getting within a leap or bound range of a gazelle only to pick up the kill he had prior, rather than striking at her jugular. As he moved about the room, he did so with a predatory movement. His heavy footsteps making the floors creak beneath him as he went along. <br/>
<br/>
The tension was palpable as he drew nearer.  His nostrils flared slightly; a scent unlike any he'd smelled before wafted into his sense of smell.  It was a musk of sorts. It told him many things. That she, despite her fear of him was aroused by his visceral display of power. Scarlet eyes glanced over at her as he strode with confidence and nonchalance about her room. He moved to where the man's head was squarely on the floor.<br/>
<br/>
 He reached down, grabbing the mans scalp and a handful of hair with it. Then, like a deer on a meat hook drug the body into the hallway, disappearing back into the shadows. The only things he left behind were the puddle of blood and the memory of a very well-built man--scarred in several locations including over his left eye and down his chest, in her mind. He gathered the bodies outside his room, slumping them into a small heap like firewood. He then casually sauntered down the other end of the hall. <br/>
<br/>
The one that had run almost made it to the stairwell. Almost. He knelt down to the man who was now panting.  He gripped the tomahawk's handle, and the man groaned in pain.Tearing it free after it had bitten into several of the man's vertebrae, hatchet side first, the man released a chilling squeal of pain before he raised the bladed side and then lunged downwards nearly splitting the man's head in twain. He then wiped the ax on the man's clothing, and drug him too to the rest of the bodies. Opening his window, he began tossing one by out after the other out the newly opened hole, letting the bodies clutter the street below.<br/>
<br/>
There was a brief silence before a woman shrieked upon finding the butchered men.  Caanan merely shut his window, pulled the curtains closed, and locked his door and laid back on the bed. He imagined that he'd have to explain it all tomorrow...</span></i>​</div>