Rodrigo sat alone at a bench. It had been some time since Rodrigo was home, not that he could ever return. Having arrived quite recently, Rodrigo was still getting accustomed to living in Paris. It felt as if he went on a normal trip as a vacation, the experience would have been different. Still, he was where he was, doing what he was doing. Rodrigo didn't like it.

Ever since the incident in Houston, with the rampaging monster, Rodrigo had felt like chunks of his day were missing. Sometimes, it would be chunks of a week. He could vaguely recall doing things, and he could feel and see himself as though he had lived through the 'lost time'. Still, Rodrigo could not place all the missing memories. Though it didn't seem like much, it was enough to bother Rodrigo, as if something were terribly wrong.

At the park bench, Rodrigo was feeding birds as they landed. The birds were definitely a little different from the ones back in San Antonio. Even though he could tell pigeons were pigeons, they were different from the pigeons from home. If nothing else, they were definitely much slimmer.

For whatever reason, Rodrigo had an AR-15 slung on his back. It was ages since he could recall firing it. He had no ammunition either, but for whatever reason, had a thirty-round magazine. It was empty; of course. One thing that Rodrigo kept noticing was that others around him didn't feel comfortable. Rodrigo often received dirty or confused looks from strangers. Perhaps it was his rifle, or the way he dressed. The city was full of immigrants thanks to all that had happened in the city's history, and so Rodrigo couldn't place a single reason.

Then suddenly, Rodrigo felt his heart beating. He quickly reached his hand to his chest, curious as to what was happening. Another thud shook his body. With his hand, Rodrigo felt that it was not simply his left ventricle pumping blood. It was as though his entire heart were shaking, in rapid intervals. Rodrigo felt himself fall to the ground.

Then, everything was okay. Rodrigo got up on one knee and walked, turning his attention to a peculiarly hooded man, Pathos. Rodrigo, undoubtedly had no idea who this man was. From the looks of things, however, Rodrigo seemed interested. He soon reached his right hand to his back, unslinging his rifle. He pulled the charging handle, locking the bolt back to the rear, then rode the charging handle back. With his free hand, Rodrigo reached into his pocket and loaded a magazine into the magazine well. The bolt shot forward, and the first round was loaded into the AR. Rodrigo did not aim; simply put the stock in the pocket of his shoulder, held up the rifle, put his cheek to the stock, switched from safe to fire, and pulled the trigger.

The first round hit the ground, the brass falling with a metallic clink. Although the city was no stranger to random acts of violence, the residents in the area were already in a frenzy, fleeing the area for their lives.