You've always had a gift for making people do what you wanted. Not for making friends, because your trashy temper always ruined everything. But manipulation, cheap charm, the dirty trick of social interactions... you're a master at that. And there's one thing about the Banes: their form may be limitless, but their mortal servants are always predictable. Desperate people, cruel people, people who'd sell their mothers for a hit of anything.
You've made your pilgrimage: to crumbling boarding houses, to rehab clinics that reek of despair, and to real bars, not these themed crap. That's how you found your target. A former drug dealer clued you in, talking about a "masked knight" he'd seen at a gas station. And from there...
Here we are. The icy wind calms, the snow stops whipping, and the scene unfolds. The target is right in front of you, clear as day. Or rather, clear as a frozen hell. It's a guy in arctic camouflage, looking like an angry snowman. His face is covered in a pile of rags and glasses. He looks like he stepped out of a bad action movie, with an assault rifle and a tablet on his hip. But the icing on the cake is that he's riding a giant black horse, like one of those nags in a Mexican soap opera. He's stuck a steel spear in the snow, and it whips around in the wind, which is both useless and dangerous.
Most grotesque of all, however, is the cloud of flies surrounding him, buzzing so loudly that you can hear the insect chorus from this distance. The guy in camouflage, amidst this landscape of ice and death, surrounded by flies. It's a pathetic and disgusting image.
You know you should focus on the moment, but your mind, a mess since your First Change, returns to what you've learned about enemies, about Gaia, the living Earth, and everything else. You weren't like this before... you were just a jerk who knew how to manipulate people. But now, you're an asshole with a purpose. An asshole with a trauma. And an asshole with a target. And flies. Lots of flies.