The car's headlights fanned over the road, cutting into the stillness of the night. That is, if the night could be called still—someone was grumbling the whole way.
"Why... why did you even take Hale?" Hunter muttered, his voice slurred but insistent. His words were slow and fragmented, yet he still managed to sound demanding, anger in him sparking. "What was your... plan? Huh?"
Hunter slouched in the passenger seat, the drugs dulling his body but not his frustration. The cult had taken Gabriel's command to keep him "relaxed" a little too literally, dosing him into a haze.
"Hey, I'm talkin' to you," he mumbled, more irritated this time.
Kant's eyes briefly flicked to Hunter before returning to the road. "Relax. Hale's dead. The job's done," he said dryly, not inviting any more questions.
Hunter stirred beside him, his head rolling awkwardly against the window. Nonetheless, he made his point to fix Kant with a sloppy glare from a weird angle.
