A creaky door slams shut, the vibrations ringing in our ears.

The winds change in ferocity, snapping sideways - sending chills.

"Hmph." A gruff voice mutters out, as a cigarette is snuffed under boot.

A blue sign, rooked and askew, hangs off of a large corporate office in the quaint little town.

The letters are dusty, cracked, faded.


The man smirks, his ginger hair flaked with silver glinting in the mid-afternoon light.

"Home , sweet home."