Eventually, you manage to fall asleep. In truth, you were about five minutes from passing out of exhaustion, but at least you got some shuteye.
V2 didn't sleep. Even if he could, he wouldn't have.
His central processor was overloaded with emotions.
Fear, Embarrasment, Disgust, but most of all...
You're awoken, as usual, by the sound of V2's gunfire. The husks never *sleep*, per se, but they certainly get less aggressive at night. Once they start trying to bust down doors, you know it's time to get up.
You push yourself up off the slightly less rotten patch of floor a more generous author may describe as a "bed", and shuffle over to the hallway.
Always better to be close to V2, in case things get bad.
He stands in the doorway, mowing down the horde of damned souls outside.
You don't want to disturb him, so you sit back and watch him at work.
For what it's worth, his stump is looking a lot better today. The stray wires have been cut, the jagged teeth of metal at the breakpoint are filed down, and - most importantly - it's no longer leaking blood.
His shotgun sits suspended in his wings. Lacking the hand to pull the trigger, V2's stuck using his revolver.
Not that's it's a problem for him, of course.
His gunplay is almost an artform. Quarters lay suspended in the air, ricocheting shot after shot after shot through the viscera-infused air, and directly into the hordes of Filth.