As night fell the city really came to life, Booker had seen signs and flyers about Independance day, but now it was starting full swing, people were locking up their shops and coming out with a drink already in their hand, youth ran around with bottles and girls giggled between each other. Beside him a couple walked hand in hand and DeWitt felt a pain, a longing for a woman. He couldn't quite place it, it wasn't sexual, rather emotional, but he brushed off the inexplicable feeling, a stern frown forming on his face.

He let the crowd push him along, stopping to light a cigarette and check his pocketwatch; 23:00 hours. Someone stepped on his shoe and he cursed them quietly, the ginger childs hard work wouldn't last. It occurred to Booker that he'd never even asked the boy his name.

Before long the crowd found its way onto a broad boulevard, the huge statue at the end of the sea of people. Booker picked up the pace slightly, hoping he would find a spot near the statue, then remembered what the boy had said about the monument having it's own private island. The crowd emptied out onto a massive brick plaza, with the statue looming over it, surrounded by a perimeter of trees, a stage had been erected at the far end of the plaza, and guards stood near it. Booker stayed out the outskirts of the crowd, glancing left and right, he'd never been too worried about his height, his rather short build allowed for good balance, and a solid center of gravity for when he found himself in hand-to-hand. But right now he wished he were taller, so he could see over the sea of top hats and done up hairdoos. Cursing under his breath he entered the ever-growing crowd, pushing his way through towards the looming statue.

DeWitt was happy for the crowd at least, he knew he'd stand out much less surrounded by drunken party-goers than if he were alone skulking about, but worry gripped him nonetheless.

He finally made it to the far end of the crowd, the road towards the statue was surrounded by gardens, saplings and bushes grew all around, thick trees forming a dense brush between them, and a wrought-iron fence ran behind them, barely visible in the darkness of night. He made for the cover of the bushes, moving through them in silence, leaving the party behind. As he neared a iron archway he slowed, scanning his surroundings, beyond the archway stood roughly 20 men, dressed in the blue colors of Columbia's law enforcement. They all had rifles in hand and DeWitt had no doubt that visitor's weren't welcome. He wondered if this was the standard detail or if the security had been amped up for the party.

He was about to move forward to see what else they had guarding the entrance when he heard a hoarse voice behind him; "Turn back."

DeWitt spun round, in his crouched position and found himself staring at the waist of black robe. He grabbed for his gun, then clenched his fists tight when he realised that he was unarmed, cursing himself for not having gotten some sort of weapon. Instantly jerking his head up he found himself staring at a pointed black hood, the face was covered, and there were slits for eyeholes. Slowly DeWitt stood up, ready to jump into combat at any second.

The figure before him was robed in all black, he had chains adorning his arms chest, locking what looked like a massive coffin to his back, in one of his hands was gripped a gleaming blade, it's edges covered with nicks and imperfections… and blood stains. DeWitt's breathing went shallow, it was as if a demon stood before him, and he couldn't help but falter, taking a step back, his face pale.

"Leave." The man said. The mask remained immobile as if there was no mouth moving under it when he spoke.

DeWitt was covered in cold sweat. Slowly he nodded and stepped to side, before walking towards the lights and sounds of the party. He held his breath and his heart pounded, palms wet with sweat. He'd gone about 4 paces before looking back, and found that the… creature, had disappeared, and crows were flying around where he had stood. DeWitt broke into a panicked run, and didn't stop until he was in the crowd again.

He was reeling, keeled over holding his knees to catch his breath and calm himself. A few party-goers glanced at him, but no one paid him much mind, except one fellow who came over and offered DeWitt a glass of whiskey.

DeWitt glanced up, eyes wide, half-expecting to see the hooded figure again; frantically, he pushed aside the glass and grabbed the bottle from the man's hand, taking down several massive swigs, before handing it back in silence, without so much as a nod of gratitude.

The fellow stared at DeWitt blankly, grasping the bottle again, then laughed and said something about how well DeWitt drank, before moving on. DeWitt checked his watch, it was close to 01:00 now. He figured it was time to head to the bar, no more exploring tonight, he wanted to know about this city, what in gods name kept it afloat, demons in the woods, the fucking statue security… it was time to head back to Jacoby's bar.

As Booker pushed his way through the crowd back in the direction he'd come from, a great cheer erupted from the crowd, he looked around to see what was causing it and found that the stage had lit up, curtains drawn, and a single figure was onstage bowing, his hat pressed to his chest. "WELCOME! WELCOME TO ALL OF COLUMBIA'S FINEST!" Called the voice, amplified somehow. "Welcome to the annual independance day raffle!" Booker turned and kept walking away, he was in no mood for a party, and his gut ached for whiskey to calm his nerves, if that were even possible. As he reached the main boulevard, empty now except for stragglers and young couples kissing in the shadows his pace quickened. His hands were in his pockets clenched into fists when he heard a sob; "Let go o' me! I didn't steal nothin'! Honest I didn't!"

Booker DeWitt held his breath as he turned to look. The boy who'd shined his shoes was struggling, tears streaming from his eyes, a cop gripped him tightly by the forearm, "Don't you lie to me boy, where's a street urchin like you get money like that? I know you nicked it from someone you lil mick."

In his other hand the cop held the handful of silver dollars; "Now tell me who you stole it from damn you!"

They boy sobbed loudly, and everyone who'd been standing nearby had cleared away, except DeWitt who stood frozen, his fists still clenched, his mind racing.

"I didn't steal it! A man gave it to me for shinin' 'is shoes!" He spun his head around frantically and saw Booker, the tears stopped and his eyes went wide. "Him, 'im right there! Mister please tell him you gave me the money good 'n honest mister! I only asked you for 5c mister please, you can 'ave it back mister please just tell him! Me ma'll be worried mister please!" The boy begged, his lip quivering. The cop glanced up at DeWitt, "You gave this urchin a fortune?" He glanced down at DeWitt's shoes, which were stained with dirt and mud from moving through the bushes, "for… shining your shoes?"

DeWitt bit his tongue, then shook his head. "Never seen that kid in my life." He turned to walk away, the child's screams chasing after him; "Mister please! You can have the money back please! I'm beggin' you mister please! Please tell him! Please!"

DeWitt kept walking, he felt nauseous, he couldn't risk trouble with the police for some idiot kid. Why didn't you run home damn it? He muttered under his breath… I told you to fucking run home…

He stopped and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, what could he say, and why in gods name would the cop believe him after he'd refused to take the money back in the first place? He wasn't here to save everyone, he wasn't here to save anyone for that matter, he was just here to find a girl and bring her back to sea level.

DeWitt set his jaw and took another step forward, his legs heavy. He forced himself to keep walking. The child's screams fading in the background as he was manhandled away.