Slitted eyes stared deep into the Contraband Shanty, their pupils tracing the sharp edges of the weapons that lined the walls. A sigh left Stryker, turning his head away from the entrance and looking out into the thin foresty of the Coalition of the Condemned. The travesty of the meteor had destroyed their land. Ultimately, what was a peaceful island was now a group of fiery outcasts. Some had a taste for blood, others wanted to relinquish a new home. The Kingpin couldn't help but think of their future. Was it bleak? Would violence overrule their morals?

With a sigh, he lowered his head. The lion was sure of what to do next, but he wondered if the action was necessary.

[member=16005]KHATO H.[/member]

SIMPLE CREATURES, BUSTED SPEAKERS

When the meteor had hit the shores of the Typhoon, Khato had thought nothing of it at first. He knew not of what the ground beneath his own feet would do in retaliation to something so big hitting it, especially to those things in the distance. In the grand scheme of things, the Coalition was not too far away from where the meteor had hit, but the lion could barely see the shore of the bigger island off in the distance when he pad upon their own shore, so it had never occurred to him that they were just something small and close by.

When the tunnels had collapsed and flooded, their home ruined, Khato had only wanted one thing - to have a home once more. A proper one too. None of the stuff they'd been doing as of late. Although they were no longer in the caves, he felt cramped above the ground, and wanted more places to roam - the caves had been filling that purpose for the longest time. He didn't want bloodshed, but would participate if it came down to it, and wouldn't oppose to things that would cause it. He was his father's son after all and he knew what it took to do something that needs to be done, and sometimes it led to death, but that was fine.

"What's in your head dad?" Khato would ask as he drew near, having seen the lion in the shanty. He knew the tell-tale signs of someone thinking of stuff, for he often thought of things himself.