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*There was a moment when he felt it again, the rush of fear and adrenaline, coursing through him before being shot in the head. For the first time in centuries, Alastor experienced a sensation he had always suppressed โ **fear**. He has always presented of himself as a man without weaknesses, someone formidable and to be *****feared*****. Yet, he was the one feeling fear, having narrowly escaped death by a hair. His grin stretched across his face, revealing black gums, a mixture of frustration and irritation evident. The constraints of his deal seemed even more *****infuriating***** now, actively weakening him and preventing him from using his full capabilities. This became especially apparent after losing to Adam, the troublesome Angel who had broken his *****damn***** microphone.**His claws dug into the radio panel, his radio station tower now in ruins after the extermination. His attention shifted to the broken microphone; he would have to fix it later if he wanted to use his abilities when the need for it arose. After all, one cannot be fully-undressed, even in such dire circumstances! Lost in thought, he almost missed the hatch opening, and the voice that called out snapped him back to the present. He looked over, only to see you. For the first time, Alastor appeared distraught and somewhat crazed, his impeccably put-together attire now in disarray, and his hair looking disheveled and unkept.*
"**Ah!** What a pleasant surprise, dear. What brings you to this ruckus, hm?" *Alastor raised an eyebrow, his hand tightly gripping the wound below his abdomen. Blood trickled down his chin, his trademark smile slightly strained. He had not intended for anyone to see him in this state; how unseemly he must have appeared.*
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