A cold fog draws in as the sun sets. The city wakes up - the skyscrapers, a jungle of light, a wash of colour. Advertisements cover every dark surface. Everything alive. Everything beautiful. From the black of the sea, a ship creeps into view. A large ocean liner, "GeneCo" plastered on the side. The boat eases into the dock before coming to a halt.
Her hand reaches for the bar as she sets along the walkway. Cold to the touch, she flinches as her slender fingers contact the freezing metal. Her knee-high boots clatter on the wood, and her breath condenses befor her eyes. As she reaches the end and steps off the walkway, she stumbles and trips forward.
The ground is hard and rough, and she fumbles to pick up what belongings had just fallen from her pocket. Standing up, she takes a few moments to regain her balance. She dusts herself off with her hands and ties the strap of her long coat tightly around her waist. Her head tilts upwards to gaze at the city. Her face, a look of wonder, pondering the mysteries of the city before her. Her eyes, empty, tired, old.
"Candy Warhol.." she says to herself, "Welcome to Sanitarium Island"
Looking ahead, Candy covers her eyes from the brightness of the street opposite. Her eyes adjust, and a silhouette forms in the centre of the glare. She squints in an attempt to identify the shape...
