The night air is crisp as Karkat breathes deeply of it, attempting to relax, focus. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his pitch dark clothes rustling faintly against the brick wall against which he has flattened himself in wait. He has forgone his usual disguise tonight -- he won't need it, for what he intends to do. His dark grey complexion blends with the shadows more easily, and his nocturnal eyes pierce the dark better unobstructed. He waits, concealed in the shadows of a small alleyway, attention fixed on the street just outside.

"They should be here soon," he mutters to you, anxious and barely audible in the gloom. "Don't do anything stupid. Don't follow me until I say so."

Generally, he works and travels alone -- but for whatever reason, tonight it seems you're along for the ride. Kidnapping and interrogating a government employee is a terribly dangerous exploit, you know, even if you have been carefully tailing them for over three months now, and know there is a decent chance they will be walking by this particular little alleyway (probably alone, possibly drunk -- he usually drinks on Tuesdays) tonight. It's prudent to have someone to watch your back.

Karkat's exploits have always been tempting fate. It's little surprise that, eventually in his quest for information, he would be met with someone with the will to not succumb to Karkat's powers. You see, while they sway someone's allegiance -- their thoughts, their rational mind -- that remains untouched by Karkat's manipulation. If he isn't careful, if he isn't subtle, his influence can potentially be rejected, should someone have enough fortitude and willpower. He'd been careless, rushed, and miscalculated; he hadn't expected the knee to his diaphragm in place of what should have been a placid compliance with whatever Karkat asked.

It all escalates very quickly from there. And all for such a stupid reason, really; he'd only wanted to manipulate a shopkeeper into allowing him to make off with some groceries from a small convenience store. Figures that it would be an ordinary citizen who would be Karkat's downfall. Karkat stumbles backwards into a display of magazines, gasping to regain his breath -- while the shopkeeper hollers about imPorts and powers and -- god, fuck Karkat's life, fuck it with every inappropriate serrated, splintery, sandpaper-covered instrument of torment the world can possibly cough up.

His hood has fallen off, revealing candy-corn horns. The shopkeeper pulls back the fist of the hand not holding the phone that he is presumably using to call the police to sock Karkat in the face. His sunglasses clatter to the floor. Sirens already wail in the distance. He withdraws his sickle, head spinning with panic. Fuck his life.

He spends more time in disguise than out, sometimes. Stealth in this world is difficult for a clearly recognizable alien, after all; he had to learn early on how to mask what he is. Hoods and hats to mask the horns, meticulously applied makeup and sealant to mask the skin tone, contact lenses and reflective sunglasses to mask the eyes, caps to mask the sharp edges of his teeth. Even with all of that, though, he has to avoid close scrutiny for his disguise to hold up. It isn't perfect. It isn't infallible. Up-close examination would cause it to crumble.

This sticks in his mind as he maneuvers quickly through city streets (The City? Maybe, maybe not.) head down and movements cautious. He hates this -- having to be out in public, in crowds, in broad daylight, but it is always inevitably necessary that it happen. His heart thumps rapidly in his chest with anxiety even so, and he goes to great pains not to draw attention to himself.

He flinches when the first raindrop hits his shoulder. Lets out a quiet gasp when more swiftly follow suit. His makeup isn't waterproof -- not entirely -- he can't afford to be caught in a downpour. Fear floods through him, and he dashes for shelter, arms thrown up over his head. He darts into the nearest -- shop? Cafe? Library? He doesn't know or care -- with little caution or thought, not even watching where he's going, so caught up in escaping the rain he is; and it's this haste that leads him to bodily collide with, well, you, just inside the dwelling.

Karkat feels guilty every time he does this -- which is kind of ridiculous, seeing as the very point of all his travelling and information gathering and rebellious exploits was to find the people he cares about in the first place. Still, feeling guilty is almost a default state of Karkat's being at this stage, and he can't deny that his presence is dangerous. His history over the past seven years has not led the government to regard him kindly; he doubts they would be content to simply imprison him at this point. They would be sure to have a worse fate in store for him, if they were to capture him.

And anyone who was discovered to be connected to him? He doesn't want to think about what would happen to them. Yes, he's dangerous to have around. The best thing he could do for people he wants to keep safe would be to stay far, far away from them, forever. Unfortunately -- or fortunately -- he isn't selfless enough for something like that. He's so terribly, achingly lonely, you see. No matter how guilty he feels, it could never outweigh his need for companionship.

Besides, collaboration makes his job easier. He can't know everything, or be everywhere -- these visits are as much for assistance as they are to assuage his isolation.

So, sometime in the dead of the night, you may awake to find you have a visitor, who most likely just broke into your humble abode via picking the lock on your window.

Decide your own scenario!