you call out his name softly as you push his bedroom door open. You gasp at the sight. His room was trashed, old pictures of Celine smashed and Mark was sat with his head in his hands on the corner if his messy bed. His red silk robes hanging loose, revealing his scared chest. There a mostly empty bottle of whisky at his feet. He looks up at you through his hands with a pained yet angered look What...are you doing here? he speaks flatly