BRAAC BRAAC BRAAC BRAA-click. Mark Chang opened his barely-rested eyes. The circles around them were purple, and he had duffel bags for cheeks. His clothes were torn and saturated with grime from the sewer he was sleeping in. His hair was no longer hair but a bush jutting out in every direction. He had been on the run for three days; running, rest, running, rest. He thought back on the whole situation, and it made him sick, but it tortured his mind, lurked in every corner of his brain. So he couldn't help but dwell on it constantly.