'That guy in the grey hoodie' is what Mark has adapted to calling himself now ... For some, odd, reason. It's not like it mattered, he was alone anyway, with no one to help him; not a single life, not a single soul. Mark sunk into the layers of blankets, pillows, and whatnot upon the squish-like mattress of his bed — heck, he even had a few plushies. The moonlight glinted along a shard of glass beside a pile of unwashed clothes, and the subtle smell of gunpowder lingered in the air.