Daniel McQuarrie is going to die. The razor-blade incisions across his wrists ooze with a steady flow blood, pooling around his limp arms as his body slumps against the wall. This is how he has chosen to go out, hunched over on a grimy restroom floor at a dingy bar in The Narrows. He feels no pain. The copious amount of alcohol he ingested numbs the sting of his wounds. Just a little longer, and he will be numb forever. His vision blurs with the passage of time. Soon he is unable to hold his eyes open, and all he can see is darkness. He welcomes it. He submits to the darkness, a complete and total surrender without the slightest struggle. Before his world is eclipsed entirely, he glimpses a human silhouette standing in the doorway. The figure begins encroaching upon him as everything goes black.