Simon, or MeaCulpa as he was known, was a character I played online for a while and this is a bit of his back-story. He was one of the types known as 'Martyrs' who devote their lives in the Hunt to making sure no one else has to go through what they do.]

The sun beat on his shoulders like molten air, and the dust of dead buildings stuck to the sweat on his face. Two cinder blocks hung from his hands as he moved in a slow lumber from the crumbling wall to the impromtu debris pile.

He hadn't slept in three days even though he knew he needed to; he'd be little use to anyone if he became catatonic at a critcal moment. The problem, of course, was when there could possibly be time for something like rest.

How could someone sleep, even for a moment, when there was the chance that...things he had seen roam the night could be creeping into someone's window. Could be under some child's bed. Could be digging through your congressman's dirty little secrets.

The sun blinded him in a flash from a passing van and one of the bricks dropped numbly from his fingers, smashing into the tough leather of his boot and earning a grunt of pain.

"Hrrmmmph!" was all he allowed himself, trying his best to focus on the brick enough to grab it with his gloved hands.

"Hey," came a voice from above as a shadow fell over his bent form, "Why don't you take a break bud. It's almost lunch time anyway, and you look like you could use it."

It was his boss, the man who hired him, so he merely nodded in thanks and made his way towards the bench in the shade. His small lunch box was there, and he removed the bruised red apple from inside as he restd his head on the dumpster behind him.

Closing his eyes he savored the taste, and was asleep before he knew it.

"You know what? F*ck you!"

The lamp slammed into the couch as she tried to calm herself down. He stood in the middle of the room, not having moved at all since he had spoken. His sad little face was lowered in shame, and his hands hanging at his sides.

She hit him again, desperate and angry beyond anything she'd known before, and just seethed more when he didn't so much as look up. That had to have hurt, she knew it.

"Dammit! You can't do this to me you stupid ... asshole!" she paced a little, screaming, her face twisting in what she'd always thought was an unflattering manner. She'd always hated how she looked angry, but it wasn't really on her mind at the moment.

"You know I'm pregnant, right?" she yelled, leaning down a little, trying to see his face as she spoke, "That didn't slip through your four year old mind, did it? You didn't forget that little fact, I hope!"

He shuddered a little, like it was difficult to breathe, but neither his expression or posture changed. He was almost twice her size and she felt like she was dealing with a child. Like she was the one doing the other a wrong.

It just made her more confused, scared, and angry.

"You can't leave! You have a responsibility to me, and to this child, and dammit if I will let your cowardly little ass walk out of here!" she was breathing hard, and resisted the urge to slap him again as she moved into the other room as part of her pacing circuit.

"Your f*cking psycho of a mother was right, as much as I told her she was wrong. You really are a wimpering little coward, and you don't deserve this child ... but you know what? I don't care. It's not your choice!" she moved back into the kitchen, hands shaking in clenched fists, with the last words. They had been words that stung on her tongue as she spoke them, but ... at this point she would do whatever it took to make him stay in this house. She would bust through this little shell, find out what the hell could possibly make him think she was just going to let him walk out, and do whatever it took to keep him where she needed him.

He was gone when she stepped into the kitchen. On the table in front of where he had stood there was a note, and even before she picked it up she could see it had been written a while ago.

The folds had been opened and closed a million times, and the edges were slightly worn with at least hours of age. The damp spots that had blurred some of the ink were fresh, and her heart sank into her stomach as she read.

'Love,

I will always do what is best for you and the child. I had to admit to myself how hard it would be for me to actually do this. I never knew how much I would lose with that promise.

I hope with all my heart you never have to understand what I mean.'

He snapped his eyes open, hand tightly gripping the arm that was inches from his shoulder. The apple rolled across the dirt as the owner of the arm jerked it back and shook his head.

"Lunch break's over man, get the f*ck up," mumbled his fellow worker with an annoyed tone.

Simon cursed silently and promised himself he'd sleep tonight. After he cashed his pay-check and made a trip to the nearest mailbox; he'd pay the bills with the money from his morning job.

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry," he called back as he pushed himself off the bench and back into the sun. As rough as it was, he actually enjoyed it a little, this endless strain on body and mind.

The man that was beginning to be feared by some of the most degenerate nightmares in the city staggered back to a crappy construction job with a small smile on his lips.

They say the right cause can make anything bearable.