[i]How many people live in this city? How many go about their lives, their eyes empty of hope; never looking for an opportunity to escape from the dregs because the thought of better prospects slipping from their grasp is too painful. Who could know? I certainly didn't. As I walked down the dark streets, I watched the people I passed. Dead expressions filled each face, their only need: a way to check out. Maybe we all needed to check out. For some it's drugs, and for others it's more permanent. In a way it made sense. Everybody gets their ticket punched one day. Why not take control of it? It was the one thing this city hadn't taken away from them yet. As for me, I wasn't ready to have my ticket punched just yet. Since the mad woman attacked the train, I'd had a nervous feeling in my gut that said I would see her again. When I did, I wanted to be ready.[/i] After selling off various bits of graphene and droid parts, Gregori finds himself walking down the darkened street. It's night, and the smog-ridden sky hides the moon behind a dark curtain. The street lights buzz and flicker, leaving only a sickly yellow light to illuminate each street corner and little else. The bright neon lights that decorate the city are all but dead here. Only the occasional burst of color comes from a sign, filling the street with violent colors before the darkness rushes in again. The homeless and destitute slowly make their way through the streets, their shoulders slumped and their steps weary. None of them make eye contact with each other. Certainly none of them do with Gregori. His own footsteps lead him to a familiar place. It owns one of the few neon signs that even function on this street, and it reads "Gunz." He opens the door and steps inside.