Rayzor walked alone. Seemingly oblivious to the pouring frigid rain that fell in sheets, soaking him to the bone. He was drunk, as usual. Since Raven's death he couldn't bear to see the world through the harshness of sobriety. But alcohol is losing it's touch. he sought solace at the bottom of bottle after bottle, but all he ever found was emptiness.

This weather wasn't helping, this was Raven's kind of night. Usually he'd be out, prowling the city streets in that leather trenchcoat of his, or cruising around in one of his many exotic cars. Rayzor winced at the memory of his dead friend. He couldn't stop thinking about it. Everything brought back memories.

He was dreading the funeral. For a few reasons. It will make it real. Once the casket is lowered into that grave that's it. It's real. Never again will those fingers fly effortlessly across the fingerboards of the guitars he cherished. Never again would Rayzor hear that calm voice of reason Raven always used when things got complicated. Never again would those piercing eyes lose their fire as they locked with the eyes of Gemma Ferns... the second reason to dread the funeral. Rayzor couldn't bear to think about Gemma, let alone see her in the flesh. He saw how Raven had looked at her, and had heard Raven talk about her. He hated her with every fibre of his being for leaving Raven, but loved her with every fibre of his being for being with him to begin with. He knew she loved Raven, he knew it wasn't her fault. He just needed someone to blame.

At the end of another bottle... still nothing but emptiness... he hurls the empty bottle away in disgust and it shatters to pieces.... he needs something stronger...