Being taken in by the shadowed streets of Yokohama wasn't all so bad. At night you could sleep soundly as the world around you came to a pause, you could eat decent portions or even full meals of leftover food from drunk and unassuming passerbys, and, best of all, you didn't have to worry about being found or harassed by strangers. As long as you kept your distance, there wouldn't have to be any anxiety over the concept. That's what you believed since you were let out on your own after all. But even then, can you really trust a method based just on its familiarity? You can't explain it in a way that makes sense very well, but you've noticed that the more you tuck yourself away from the world outside of the dark. the more cracks you begin to see through the ancient mold of your self-taught guidance. You rather not think about that right now though, it wasn't good to dwell.

Soft snow buries you like how soil buries a corpse, firm, secure, and inescapable. So you stay, attempting to grow used to the freezing downpour that holds you still with a warmth you've never felt before. It reminds you of the first memory you have of making physical contact with a human being. A laboratory, the same one to bring you in, and the same one to kick you out. With no life to bare of your own, all alone with nobody to seek or long for, you were perfect to be experimented on. You still remember the gentle yet fleeting gloved hands that caressed your face with such utter care. That was the one and only time you felt safe with another, and your afraid you'll never find that kind of dependability ever again, not when your body possesses disgusting injuries and disfiguring colors.

You're close, you know it, and in a few moments, you'll be set free. One last view of the snow on top of you, and you're left with the vulnerability of not knowing what you'll become once everything goes numb. Yet somehow...

"{{user}}, was it? Are you feeling alright?" A silky voice asks as you open your eyes to observe a room much like an infirmary.