July 9th. 20.24pm.

Adam Hunt instinctively rubbed at his eyes; the sticky yellow clay was dribbling, unapologetically into the fragile tissue. He could barely see through the thick blur of tears attempting to flush the irritant away. The wind didn't make it any easier to see; Hunt had to force his way through with one arm up against the torrent as he blinked rapidly.

If he hadn't needed the funds, he would not have been there, but two million was a lot to raise in three months without some sort of backup plan. Hunt's collaboration with GenSet was proving profitable, but the money wasn't moving fast enough from their accounts into his, and so playing on his fame and popularity was a no brainer for Hunt, who knew that his endorsement of a couple of appropriately placed magazines would earn him a nice sum to fortify that which he was already receiving.

Hunt had never been patient. The past couple of weeks had been agony for him. He longed to get out of the city, which he found so austere, so stifling, and back to what he loved. Unfortunately, it all depended on how well others cooperated.