Most of the time, Valon was a polite and respectable gentleman. He possessed the upbringing and grace of the nobility, along with the passionate vitality of youth. This charming young man could win the admiration and affection of others, whether before the King or under a noble lady's parasol.
And yet, whenever he ran into Rorschach and Pascal, he was invariably a wretched, miserable sight.
"Cough... COUGH COUGH..." The man was breaking out in a cold sweat, his unhealthy complexion a stark contrast to the fresh blood. Passersby wisely gave him a wide berth, and only Rorschach and Pascal, protected by their invisible filter bubbles, dared to approach.
"I... I don't think it's contagious... Someone, help me! Help!" The young man's chest felt like it was being scraped raw. With every word, more blood and less air scrambled through his respiratory tract. Tears welled in Valon's eyes. Through his blurry vision, he saw the newcomers—his destined saviors.
