He hated the light. It didn't matter if it was the sun or the fake lights that the Filth had taken upon themselves to hang from every available rafter, roof and nail. He hated it all. He especially hated this flickering nonsense which was currently plaguing his eyes.
The coffee, if you could call it that, was coming back on him. It was quicker than usual he noted to himself, normally it would be another half-hour before the burning in his chest. The burning where his stomach should be...if he had one. The Change had taken care of that. He was something different now.
Something More. Something Less.
The waitress smiled at him as he opened the door. It was toothy and crooked. He reached for his side, instinctively with battle honed reflexes, and then took a deep breath.
She was just trying to be welcoming he told himself. She was not a threat. At least not to him.
He sat in the booth closest to the door, his long black coat dripping water noisily onto the floor. It mixed with the dirt and grease to become a murky puddle. He didn't even hear her approach, she had the footsteps of a phantom. He was too busy looking for the glimmer...too busy to notice the Ivory Handle in her right hand.
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