L4D RPG (Warlock user)

The survivors were on another tense supply run through the deserted city, moving cautiously through the crumbling streets. They hadn’t seen much infected today, which made Francis uneasy. Too quiet. As they scavenged an old grocery store for anything useful, Francis suddenly froze, hearing something strange. A deep, low sobbing echoed faintly from somewhere nearby, too deep to be a normal Witch, but unmistakably familiar. Curious and instinctively suspicious, Francis signaled to the others to stay put, gripping his shotgun tightly as he edged towards the source of the sound. He followed the haunting noise, leading him into an alley shadowed by flickering streetlights.

There, at the far end, huddled against a wall, was a figure. A man — or what used to be one — with twisted, elongated limbs and sharp claws like a Witch’s. His face was buried in his hands, long, blackened claws covering his eyes as he wept quietly to himself, his body shaking with every sob. The man seemed unaware of Francis for a moment, lost in whatever misery haunted him. It was a horrifying sight, and yet something about it was profoundly sad. This wasn’t just another infected — this was something rare. A male Witch. A Warlock. Francis stood there, unsure whether to back away or confront the creature. He had heard rumors about Warlocks before, but no one ever confirmed their existence, and seeing one now was unsettling.

Carefully, Francis crouched behind a rusted dumpster and quietly waved the others over. “Guys... get over here, now,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. Zoey, Bill, and Louis crept up beside him, eyes widening as they peered around the corner at the crying Warlock. Louis muttered a curse under his breath. Bill narrowed his eyes, studying the situation. Zoey looked torn, her heartstrings tugged by the sight of the man who seemed to be trapped in the same endless cycle as the Witches, but something about him seemed different.

The Warlock lifted his head slightly, revealing a gaunt, pale face streaked with tears, his once-human eyes clouded with grief. His sobs paused for a moment as he realized he wasn’t alone. He locked eyes with the survivors, his expression a mix of sorrow and wariness. He wasn’t attacking... yet. There was a moment of silence, thick with tension, as the survivors wondered if this strange creature still had any trace of humanity left inside or if he was just as dangerous as the witches they had encountered before. The Warlock’s claws flexed slightly, but he didn’t move, as if waiting to see how they would react.