Clive wasn't sure if he would make it out alive. But he did. Now he wished for death to have taken him away while it had the chance as he lay in bed, his head throbbing, cursed to live yet another day.

'Whatever spared me only made me suffer,' he resents. Clive doesn't bother to look at the clock. He already knows it's today that marks the fifth anniversary since the time machine exploded. That metallic killer who blew his parents away.

He goes downstairs, but then realises he was already on the lowest level; the upper ones were wrecked.