shattered on the floor and he decides not to walk across them to get closer.
The noise might attract attention.
From a distance he examines what is exposed of his face as if wondering what he is seeing. Pulling the fabric down to reveal more he looks at himself for a moment. The washed out pale yellow pigment almost glowing in the dimly lit store. The edges of his eyelids and nostrils are raw and painful looking and his lips are dry and cracked. His eyes are so bloodshot it looks as if he hasn’t slept in a week.
A scream echo’s out in the distance, more of the swarms. Swarms of drones. It’s too far away to be overly concerned though and he turns back to the mirror and asks in his mind: