Yukio hissed and stepped back. He'd slid down from the roof to the ground below. The people who lived here thoughtfully put staircases down the outside of their taller buildings, facilitating the movements of persons such as Yukio, who preferred to take their night ramblings to a higher level. He made a grumbling sound, low in his throat. He'd just about had enough of today. He'd lost his master, lost his luggage, lost his way - he wasn't even sure he was in the right city any more. Everyone was strange and foreign. He'd been briefly happy when he'd found the fish market, but when he'd tried to pick up some scraps off the floor, a man had thrown water over him, soaking his shirt. He'd rolled it and put it in his backpack, but now he'd lost that as well. Had it stolen, rather. Everyone in this city was a thief or bad-tempered. Or both. Yukio looked around the corner again. The vehicle was still and it wasn't flashing its lights, but he didn't trust it. If there was one thing he'd realised about the strange new life he found himself in, it was that those blue and white howling cars were bad news. Something landed on his head and he put his hand up to feel it. Water. Was it starting to rain now? That was all he needed. He considered walking out of the alley, straight past the howling car and down the street, in the hope of finding somewhere better to shelter. But if the occupants of the car, the blue liveried ones, if they saw him, there'd be trouble; they didn't like Yukio. It might be his appearance, it might be his smell, he wasn't sure. He was sure they didn't like his swords, that had been mentioned the last time they chased him. No, it was back to the rooftops. He'd come down somewhere a bit quieter next time. If he could find somewhere like that in this noisy city. Did the inhabitants never sleep? It certainly seemed that way. He slunk back to the metal stairs and began to make his way up them.