The world was dark now, an ultimate revolution against the burning sensation of the most humane sun. Once upon a time he'd heard somewhere, as most children do, that when the end comes, there is light. And yet, there was no light shed on him, none that he could see. Instead, there was damp burning, a feeling that touched even his unexposed body. For a few moments, he wished he could have let go. In the days prior, he had danced upon the idea of so easily slipping on the balcony edge, but in the face of his possible failure, he feared a painful and traumatic death to a slow one. Perhaps that made him a coward, but he had long since lost the ability to climb all the way onto that ledge. There were few things in life he felt he could regret more.<br/><br/>Suddenly, something reached into his soul, grasped him by the neck, and yanked him back into the world. The landing was rough, and he felt more broken than ever. And then there was water, in his eyes, in his nose, a more precious liquid had never burned so hotly. Parthen tried to flail his tired arms, to make a valiant attempt at pushing away his natural assailant. But perhaps...<br/><br/>Was it raining? Could it be raining that terrible smog?<br/><br/>There was a new strength in him suddenly, though he feared he may already be infected, he had to get up. Though he feared opening his eyes, there was cover not so far, and maybe if he crawled into it, his thoughts could be his own for just a little while longer. It was hotter than outside, sure, and it was terrible musky, but the rain. Parthen found himself flailing harder, trying to find the ground with a body that he couldn't feel.<br/><br/>Though he never did find the concrete, he felt his hand connect to some hard, felt it break, felt glass cut into his hand.<br/>The familiar sensation made him stop, and curiosity forced his eyes open. The first thing he recognized was man that retained the color in his skin. The second, more dreadful item, was the broken mask that hung at the man's side.