Alistair stood atop a building—hands crossed behind his back. There was only one thought in his mind.
'The city is burning.'
"Everywhere, there's chaos. People are breathing and living in destruction. Why are these happening?
"And why am I also a part of this?"
His heart raced, a discomforting sensation filled his chest. Nothing, nothing was great.
The earth pained his legs, and air suffocated lungs.
"I need to fix the issues here faster. But, Ragnör is a pain to kill. No, I can't even find his traces. How does an oversized rat hide so efficiently? "
Before he contemplated any further, a door burst open.
Stepping forth, with a pace filled with authority and discipline—arrived a middle-aged lady dressed in a coat, its hem swaying.
Tucked between her armpits, lay a yellow file. Rows of morbid pictures leaked from its opening, mortem views.
"Mr. Alistair, correct?"
"Yes."
