His nose wrinkled at the stench of the locals as he passed by a squatters’ den to his left along the darkened corridor. Walking human filth, he thought, putting a hand over his nose and mouth, which were already obscured by the red bandana tied around his face. The fingerless woolen gloves offered a degree of muffling of the odor when pressed over his nose and mouth that the thin fabric of the bandana didn’t provide, yet still his eyes caught sight of the silhouettes of craven figures huddled together or cavorting wantonly in the derelict building’s chambers.
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