The night would flicker like candles by a tomb. Darkness encircles this little world, his little world.

Crosshair’s knees rest on a pew, hands cupped together to mumbles prayers. Prayers to a god he lost faith in long ago—but from a desperate bout of fear—crept back to.

Tech. Perhaps not a dear friend, one he lost a while ago, now left to the ether with cherubs and Sephardim to protect them. Oh, how he mourns Tech like a brother. A tragedy, and a bitter one at that.