The night air was crisp, and smelled of rain. There had been a downpour about 45 minutes ago, but it had softened into a light rainfall. Francis was making his way to his work, a few supplies in hand. It might be shocking that someone like him had a job, but it was a very fulfilling one. Since the murder of Norma Stein, he had taken up residence in a forgotten cabin in the October Mountains. It was peaceful, and most importantly, it was far from humans.