[From those deep shadows comes a familiar figure, head lowered toward the ground, barely clothed save shorts and streaks of red. Blood. His hands drip with it. He may even see the shards of broken glass embedded in them--in his legs, arms, feet--but he doesn't seem to notice.
He speaks again, louder. His voice is monotone, if slightly confused.]
You don't belong here. ...Who are you looking for?