Samuel was met with an amused expression. "Cesspit? Right on that. Hatred? Eh, folk 'round here seem too caught up in their own shit to actually hate. But violence?" Another mean laugh. "Boy oh boy, this place is chock-full of that. Militaries unregulated and stacked here by the dozen, people doing whatever they want... this place is a boiling pot. And whatever asshole is in charge around here forgot to take off the lid." He patted the tactical holster that was strapped around his body. There was a slightly curved sheathe that looked like a machete's housing, although no handle protruded from it. Only a decently thick metal ring. "Arioch Blaine. I already know who you are, so no need to worry about being polite. After all, we're in the rudest place imaginable. Perfect for someone like me." Another anomaly in habit. He lacked the passionate hatred of most of Farcon's men in his tone when he talked about the Dojo.