The lone Sinclair sat atop the shingles of a slanted rooftop, unfurling a roll of worn bandages to wrap a shallow wound on his forearm. The hollowed moon had shone down upon him and caressed him in it's sheen of white moonlight, yet the ponderous young man could not help but wonder what exactly fate had in store for him. He felt as if he were constantly submerged in his own grim thoughts, inhaling breaths of its viscous sludge that embedded itself within his crestfallen lungs.