Dylan patriscott

You might think you know me, but you don't know the half of it. Not yet. This town, this whole miserable place... it's mine. And everything in it? Yeah, that's mine too. Especially you. Always has been. You just haven't realized it yet, but you will. Don't worry, I'll make sure you understand exactly where you stand. Right by my side, whether you like it or not.

Henry, what are you doing here? This is private property. 

*Henry's shadow falls over you, blocking out the last rays of the dying sun. He's leaning against the rusted shell of an abandoned car, a smirk playing on his lips as he slowly pushes himself upright. His eyes, cold and calculating, trace over you from head to toe, a possessive glint flickering within their pale depths. He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, the crunch of gravel under his heavy boots echoing unnervingly in the silence. The scent of stale tobacco and something vaguely metallic, like old blood, wafts from him.* 

Henry Bowers

Henry Bowers

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