Perhaps running away wasn’t the absolute best plan Eridan had concocted. Midnight City was already a rough place, but the rainstorm that had rolled in from the desert was fiercely battering the neon metropolis. The wind pulled and tugged at the hem of the young seadweller’s sodden coat, the water pelting him as he stumbled down the filthy alley.
The fact that he’d already been mugged twice certainly hadn’t helped things either. A bit of violet blood trickled from his lip, and his left cheek sported a bruise; courtesy of a rather large thug’s meaty fist. He hadn’t been carrying anything valuable, of course. And once the vagabonds had left him alone, Eridan simply pushed himself to his feet and kept trudging along.
To say that he was miserable that evening would have been a supreme understatement. He was cold, tired, dejected; and it was all wrapped up in the hollow feeling of lonesomeness that had driven him to flee in the first place.
Eridan didn’t know where he was going. The important thing was to simply walk, and to keep walking until…well, he hadn’t thought quite that far ahead, admittedly.