*Leather soles over craggy rocks. Slip, crunch, crunch.*

*Marches along the waterfront, a vague rustle in the foliage.*

*In a small cottage, cluttered papers rustle beneath worn leather as a thin specter of a man collects what little sustenance he has left from the fridge. Lips curl at the red goo, curdled from the cold and time.*

*He settles into the firm chair, all skin and sharp bones. His shadow dances in the fire's rubied allure.*

*He takes measured sips of water, yet his stomach's rumbling persists. He will have to take another. He shudders at the thought, and kneads his long nose.*

Hah.

Why Here, I’ll never know. But, Here, we are.

Distantly, I can hear it. It, that vague surf of tide.

Why, the ticking of a clock. *Eyes flutter closed.* Beats forth the ocean’s mirth.

*A shadow slips through a cracked window, carefully dropping to the department store’s floor.*

*All in all, a few cases of water, several bottles of antiseptic, and several articles of clothing are stolen from the department store. The damage done to the window gets the local police involved. The shattered glass bears no fingerprints.*

*Under the cover of foreign stars, fire crackles, licking along craggy, cool rocks. Unmarred, he traces his fingers along the stones. Some subtle energy rushes beneath his fingertips low to the ground. He ducks down, feeling the traces of displaced energy.*

*Here. There. A pocket. A... similarity.*

*A ringing. Turns, eyes glint in the darkness of the countryside. Snow climbs to his boots.*

*Florescent lights crackle to life, illuminating a rudimentary lab. Quick fingers rummage through a backpack, pulling out gathered materials.*

*It’s coming together. It isn’t much, but it is hope.*

Don’t distract me.

*Pauses, dragging his boot in the mud.* ... Who?