Sweat dripped from the swollen strands of Sebastian Thorne’s hair, the salty wetness making each hair cling to the other, though some remained stuck to his tan face. His breathing was quick and shallow, his chest rising and falling rapidly under his white t-shirt, which was soaked through in a ring of sweat around his neck. Even though he had barely moved in the past five minutes, he was sweating profusely, breathing as if he had just run several miles. Once more he raised his arm up from his waist quickly, thrusting his palms towards his target, his fingers flexed forward and almost shaking. For perhaps the hundredth time he felt as though, he was just on the brink, on the threshold of his goal. When nothing happened, he lowered his hands once again, trying to relax. Thorne tightly shut his eyes, slowly relaxing his eyelids until he confidently opened them, his rich brown eyes took in his surroundings, but focused on the target in front of him. The darkness of night enveloped the abandoned parking lot he was standing in, weeds sprouted up between cracks in the asphalt, and they cast sinister, moving shadows in the light of the flickering fire Thorne had made a few feet to his right. Ten feet in front of his feet he could see what he was concentrating on: a row of firecrackers, fuse towards the solitary figure, each explosive was about a foot apart. Once again, Thorne quickly thrust his arms toward the firecrackers, feeling the exertion within as his efforts produced more sweat, and this time, a slight spark.