He stood like a sentinel in the locker room, alone and settling in the sour stench of sweat. It permeated like a venomous snake comprised of vapour, pouring into every orifice. He had sour, browning blue blood pouring down his chin in rivulets; his cheeks were bruised and his nose was dark with the blood of another. His teeth tasted of metal - more than normal. He had bitten hard, and he had punched him, slamming him against the locker. He opened up 107 and pulled out his towel, rubbing it against his face in an attempt to wipe his sins away, but it simply streaked the cobalt fluid.