The room is quiet and smells of urine and sweat and the humid aromas of sex.
Raman discreetly lifts his head to look around, then rises from the bed, going 
first to the door, then back to the window, a massive Dragon Slayer knife 
gripped tightly in his hand. At the door he hears nothing, and a quick look into 
the hallway reveals only the darkness and decay of this tenement located on 
Philadelphia’s north side. The only window provides a view of the
garbage-littered alley. Nothing moves. Twilight is fading into night.