Mark opened his eyes in a bustling street and immediately held his breath. Figures walked around him, squeezing him between them as they moved past. Groaning slightly, he pushed through the crowd and finally, moved out of the push and shove to the side.
He spat to the side, breathing heavily.
"Oh, young man," a woman called from the side and he turned around to stare at her. She was old and wrinkled, very human. "Do you want cooky?"
Mark felt some instinctive dread and shaking his head, ran away from her. He stopped in an alley, hands on his knees. The place was lit with a red light and his shadows warped hideously as if laughing at him.
"Damn hell," he said, then turned to stare at the sky.
The skies were dark, crimson moonlight illuminating the area.
Squeak. Squeak.
