It was a room. Not unlike others in this place, it was large, wooden, and more importantly, cold. It was warehouse number 84 on the fifth level of sky city, the lowest place that you can go without falling through; the two children were on the floor, asleep, just like any other member of the sky city would be. And all the others in the city, and even the warehouse were, apart from one. He was on a rafter, practising is what he would say if you asked him, although what he was doing was far from the truth, he wanted out, and he was going to do it, not just for him, but for all those that would have died without him in those all to frequent times when the guard decided to have fun and beat up some of the children that lived down here. That was their biggest mistake yet. He was known to all on these lower levels and some on the higher one. He protected those that needed it, and killed to stop those that wished the children harm. For he was the final shadow in the night.
This was all forgotten by Sam, who had declined in all the time, he was now a drunk, fired from his job. The only proof that the occupant of hat cell was as truly bad as they say, talk to him and you die. Samuel Lawrence chandler was dead, for now, all that remained was his body and a desire to drink, he never knew how he started, he never realised when he had stopped, both were connected to number 27, his final act of kindness. He was shunned, no-one knew why, they just did it from that day on, for all time, until he could redeem himself in the eyes of the people that he had lived beside e for so long, helping and caring, even when no-one else did. The time for this to happen came sooner than he thought. He was walking down in the fourth level; a drunk such as him didn’t get that much attention, even if he was just there for a few days at a time. He walked, wandered went along, he never drank down here, only doing that when he go home and almost remembered , that what drove he to drink, he would be like so many of the other people of this city, flying high, though, and this was a personal thought, that this would never happen to him, he was too good to be one of those people that soared above the cloud and were shot down from the wings of their dreams. So different he mused, were the levels even when only one layer separated them. The fifth was the worst place to be, cold wet, clean and wooden. The fourth was all brawls, cider and men. The third was a work place for those that had worked hard, with comforts and more. The next three levels, not much was known about them, even though they were the place that all wanted to be. Before he had become a drunk he had lived his life well, almost getting to the second level, a pleasure that almost none got if coming from the lower tier. Then the drink ruined it, his boss’s faith, his career and everything that he held dear, he kept his job, a well paid place in society. That was all he had, that and a memory of a face. The face that haunted his nightmares.