He craves power.

He craves dignity.

He craves respect.

But Voctor Creed craves many things and today few of them are within his reach.

He is craving so much so hard that he has missed what was within his grasp and now it is gone.

And so he craves so much as he sits and drinks in a dark room, smelling of cheep whiskey, and dirrty laundry. A room with a broken mirror which shows him a shatterred image of himself as he smoke a cheep cigar and laughs with no humor at all.

He craves power, and yet he is the most powerless of all.