His trench coat brushed his legs as he strolled down the empty street, an air of danger about him. He ran a hand through his onyx locks, flipping them from his eyes. All of his guards were up. His combat boots tapped on the hard ground as he walked, not loud enough to wake people up, just loud enough for him to be sure it was just him. Emerald orbs glanced up at an abandoned shop, as he lit up a cigarette. Tendrils of blue-grey smoke drifted to the stars, illuminated by a nearby street lamp, which flickered softly. He had little to no earthly belongings, just a comb and a packet of cigarettes and ten euros,which would be just enough for him to survive until he reached his destination- the border of France and Belgium. That is, if all went to plan.
