His foot hit against something. Looking down, he realised it was a broken portion of a wall, one of the newer black facades that covered everything. He picked it up and studied it in the light, careful not to overexpose himself to any of the changelings flying overhead who might spot him through the broken and pitted ceiling of the backstreets. He turned it over in his hand. Strange, it felt coarse yet held an almost metallic coldness to it. From the edges, it was apparent it was built in sheets, like the layers of an onion. It looked similar to the shells that covered the pod he had been in so long ago, but he knew from experience that it was not the same material. There was nothing organic about this.