[h1][b][i][color=39b54a][center]Felix Hausten[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h1]

[center]Location:   the Roller Derby [/center]

What an atmosphere. He thought to himself as he made his way to a nice seat up near the rockstar he recognised. How interesting that the artist, one that he knew lived in Boston Heights, was also here. How interesting...how coincidental. But maybe his being here was also a coincidence. Far too many coincidences. As a writer this all felt too, set up. He'd have to make some edits at the final draft. As he sat there, awaiting the game to reach the pique he opened up his notebook.

He looked to the performance, hardly finding any of it, interesting whatsoever. With the lack of anything to do, this is where he found himself. He himself was certain his intelligence was just, going downwards, but of course none of that intelligence even existed to begin with. He sighed but then, it happened. Darkness.

He cursed under his breath and shoved the notebook into his bag as he made his way sprinting in the darkness, hearing gun shots. As soon as the first shot was heard he shouted "THIS IS BAD" and ducked to the wall before light returned, pushing people out of the way, making his way to the exit.