The morning sun over Area 17 struggled to pierce the heavy veil of industrial smog that permanently hung over the lower sectors. Cold, damp air swept through the concrete avenues, carrying the metallic tang of transit rails and distant exhaust.
Hide Volter stepped out through the main exit doors of the General Hospital, taking a long, quiet breath. Having been officially discharged after his mandatory physical assessment, he adjusted his cloths and began walking down the pavement. He had no specific destination in mind. His mind was cluttered with the lingering weight of his awakening, and what had conspired yesterday, this was the worst coincidence of his life.
He just walked, his boots making a steady, rhythmic cadence against the stone.
A hundred yards behind him, blending seamlessly into the morning crowd of commuters, was Rosh.
