Michael Haller. Inventor. Researcher. Recently deceased. The man is- sorry- was, a lot of things. Hell, he even made a prosthetic arm for your friend Nieves. Oh, wait, she's dead too. Seems everybody you know is these days... you had even watched a giant form of Carnage die. These were dark times. And as if to mimic the sort of deep rooted despair hidden in your chest, even darker clouds rolled in. You looked up, and the bloated clouds burst with a cold, dead rain. Not the rain that rejuvenates the world, but the rain that makes you want to stay inside. The rain that makes you shiver and sweat at the same time. The rain that shows the world... true sadness. You kept walking, your mind racing yet slowing down all at once. When you arrived home, you found nearly pristine mechanical prosthesis with a puddle of purple goo surrounding it...