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Yan rolled to his side, coughing himself into consciousness. He was naked, though at least mostly covered with a stained blue comforter. He opened one eye, with an audible crackle as his sand-caked eyelids separated, and looked at his surroundings. Keeping an eye open always helped him adjust to waking up, after all. There was a stain on the ceiling from a persistent leak that had now grown into a crimson-brown splotch that hung ominously above him, threatening to break open and soak him in stagnant rainwater at any minute.

He folded himself up, leaning against the wall his futon pressed against, collecting his thoughts for the day. First order of business, as always, was breakfast. Yan leaned across his futon and sprawled over the comforter, letting a few stray rays of sunlight that had escaped through the closed blinds touch his skin. He began to rifle through what appeared to be a pile of trash, looking for something with a ferocious intent. He had been sleeping for about 13 hours, and because he hadn't yet figured out a way to do drugs in his sleep, that meant he was already starting to feel the effects of minor withdrawal. [i]Irritability. Stress. A lack of focus.[/i]

He overturned a small soiled napkin, and found his well-earned prize. A small, clear plastic bag, the kind that would have normally held earrings or loose gemstones, filled with hot pink dust. Though Yan didn't smell it, it carried a distinct chemical smell not unlike ammonia, and though the room he was in was dark, it still sparkled amidst the shadows. Yan stood up and cleared his throat, spitting on the floor as he held the bag in the sunlight. After a few moments of inspection, Yan plopped down on the futon once more, pulling the comforter over himself out of decency and setting the bag in front of him. Next to the futon, beside a skunky-smelling empty glass, was a small pistol-like device, holding a vial that had been caked in chalky pink residue. Yan unscrewed the vial from the device and carefully tapped half of the bag's contents into the vial, before screwing it tightly back on.

With a satisfied chuckle, Yan ran his fingers through his wild, uncombed hair. He had earned extra Zen by being paid for information, a practice he occasionally dabbled in -- This time, he had given a triad member's location to an RSF officer. He wasn't on either side. He was on [i]Yan's[/i] side. He chuckled to himself again, stabbing a vein in his foot, and squeezing a small trigger.

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Yan sat motionlessly on the subway, staring out of the window. The lower ring wasn't much of a sight to see normally, but he wasn't quite in a normal mindframe. He was on his way to a local soup kitchen. The noodles they used were always too thick and the broth was always too thin, but anything would've tasted good to him. Arriving at his destination, he stood up with a groan, as if he held a tremendous weight on top of him. His feet slid towards the door step by step like a deep sea diver's, and he looked like he might have fallen over at any second.

"You alright there, son?" An elderly man asked him, stroking his beard pensively. "You look a little [i]green[/i]." He was short and portly, and his black beard was forked in two. The subway slid to a complete stop, and the doors opened with a hiss.

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[color=purple]Y̔҉̙̹o̺u̗̭̣̮͇͈͌̽ ̟̹͉̫̮͈̯͋ͩ̊á͙̗͙̯̖͍̿̊͑͋̚l̏̋̒ͣ̇͂r̩̙̹̹͖̫͉͛ͦ͐ͯ͗̊ͤï̼͊ͭͤg̙̹̰̯͈͒ͥĥ̶̫̟̩̩̃̈́͆ͦ̿t̢̘̫̙̦͕̺̤̃͐͊ ͈̝̭̰͐ͩ͊̕t̯̖̞̩̖͍̠ͧ͐̏̾͋h̡̩ͧ̃̉̃ͯ̃̌e̶̪ͩ͌̑ȑ̬̯̜̼̟̫̈́ͭe͖̳̪̪͎͋̃ͦ̅ͧ̒,̙͎̺̻̬̔̃͟ ̳͙̬̙̱s͔̦͔̅͒͋̌̄͗o̴ͥͨń͋ͪ́ͭ̔̍?̬͈̙̏͌ͯͅ[/color]

A lizard sat across from Yan, flicking his black forked tongue at him. His eyes were beady, and a distinctly reptilian yellow. He grinded his teeth impatiently, and the sharp edges seemed to sparkle in fluorescent lighting of the subway. Yan paused for a moment, trying to decipher his strange, garbled words. Before he could, the lizard hissed loudly, which Yan took as a clear sign for him to leave. 

He made his way out of the subway station, limply dragging his feet through inky, polluted puddles and scattered bits of trash. The sky had soured to an unpleasant gray that suggested a storm to come, as well as the possible rupture of the crimson water stain above Yan's nest. The people around him seemed to move infinitely fast, as if he were covered in molasses while his fellow pedestrians skated through the pavement with ease. Luckily for Yan, he usually went unnoticed in the lower ring. Zen-Men were a dime a dozen, and this afforded Yan a level of anonymity. He arrived at the soup kitchen surprisingly quickly, opening the door with a grunt. There was a man in front of him in a red jacket. talking loudly. Yan couldn't understand him and the loud noises frightened him, but he was not going to leave without his soup, whether or not this guy moved.

[color=skyblue]"'Scuse me. You in line?"[/color]