Some unknown time later, though in this place time is both subjective and irrelevant, a tall man strides along a dusty, rough road, an unseen sun beating down to steam the sweat from his pores. Salty drops run down his scarred face, trickle along his scarred arms, sting and burn in the dry-yet-bloody gunshot wound in his chest, and then drip from his rough and scarred fingers to fall upon the road with soft sizzles; each drop leaves a glittering crystal with a red fracture at its heart. (5 of 8)