The present condition of the world was deplorable. In a matter of days, you found yourself stranded in a ruined city, buildings burning behind you as you walked along a bridge, two men, both indirect—not much— causes of the Tragedy, at your side.

The wind was unnaturally cold, contrasting with the heat of your senses, you rested your hand weakly on the railing of the bridge as you followed the path. You took a look at the river water, it was dyed a deep crimson, you looked up at the sky, then at the eyes of the man with the long jet hair, they all had that same blood color in them. You lamented how such a beautiful color could become a symbol of despair in such a short time.

You exhaled and looked at the other guy, a disheveled little man with a long chain atached to a collar around his neck. You watched him for a few seconds before pulling the chain, in sheer boredom.