[Walter can bear the armor piercing existentialism question over being real or not. He damn well needs to breath and his fingers are stinging madly from a days worth of slaying. That counts as existing, prior reading material or not.
Arguably the ghouls (zombies as the public so feels incline to call them) are bearable. They are stronger and that does bother him making the once simple flip of the wrist to decimate dozens impossible. It takes focus to take one done, let alone a dozen.
No, by far it is the current issue at hand that is unbearable.
The cigarettes are stale, old, rotted, and so forth and so on. Oh the lighters work, but there is not much use for a lighter when the smokes do not offer that relaxing inhale of tobacco.]
Another stale pack.
[He grumbles and tosses it aside to rip another pack open. At least this 'Seven-Eleven' (he assumes it to be hours of operation, or were) has a rack full of them to plunder through.]
Walter Dornez | Hellsing: The Dawn
Arguably the ghouls (zombies as the public so feels incline to call them) are bearable. They are stronger and that does bother him making the once simple flip of the wrist to decimate dozens impossible. It takes focus to take one done, let alone a dozen.
No, by far it is the current issue at hand that is unbearable.
The cigarettes are stale, old, rotted, and so forth and so on. Oh the lighters work, but there is not much use for a lighter when the smokes do not offer that relaxing inhale of tobacco.]
Another stale pack.
[He grumbles and tosses it aside to rip another pack open. At least this 'Seven-Eleven' (he assumes it to be hours of operation, or were) has a rack full of them to plunder through.]