The streets of today were calm... too calm. Everybody avoided one another, as if proximity would cease the beating heart. Why? The storm had gotten closer. Whispers of men, like ghosts, took heed; stories of corpses crucified in alleys spread.
These were dark times, a cold age. Death ripped and culled, people wept and begged. Right and left, bodies sprouted like weeds.
And in this city of grim, Fred and Alistair could be seen meandering silently; the red lights from lamps shone in young eyes. But there existed an unsavory atmosphere pervading amidst them.
No.
It was between them.
Alistair's gaze seemed to darken under the incandescent light, starkly contrasting with the happy-go-lucky expression Fred wielded. This silent walk continued until eventually,
"Fred, let's talk," Alistair shattered the silence. "Explain your purposes. Your true ones."
As he heard such an odd question, Fred became dazed. "My true what?"
