Why does it hurt, screaming inside my head like a trapped demon, clawing at the inside of my skull in a ravenous frenzy? Why does it echo throughout my mind, keeping me at the same time awake and subdued, almost as if I'm no longer in control of myself? It wants to escape, to rend itself free, but it can't. It waits unceasingly, and it never ends, surely it will drive me mad . . . won't it?
I move to put a hand to my head but stop. That's not my hand. It's too large, alien and foreign, its gloved countenance masking something more. As I look at it it trembles, a sliver of emotion manifested in the real world, and I can relate. I am scared, terrified, confused. I never signed up for this . . . did I? They never said this in the contract . . . did they? I just needed work, I never would have dreamed it would end like this . . .
I try to talk, but my voice comes out warped and distorted, a low sonorous wail that echoes sorrow throughout the small room, and for a second I feel like crying. Something is terribly wrong, this is not me. What has happened? The pain in my head persists still, and I want to bang my head against a wall to drive it out like the little demon it is. I try to stand, but stumble and fall, my head clanging against the wall with a hollow sound. My legs are too heavy and clink noisily as I stand again, this time regaining my balance.
Somewhere a door opens, and I stumble slightly as I turn towards it. A figure comes in but I don't recognize him, my hazy mind struggling but failing to find anything remotely familiar in his face. He talks, but strangely I don't here. It's the blasted pain, it drowns out anything and everything, leaving me alone and confused. The man seems to understand this and directs me to the door, where I haltingly follow, unaware of what lies beyond.
I am surprised by what I find in here and turn towards the figure in confusion. He prods me forward and I walk towards the little girl, my heavy boots echoing loudly in the confined space. She cringes and pulls away, her yellow eyes expressing the very same fear and confusion that hovers over me like a thick fog. She is afraid of me, and that scares me. As I watch she scampers to the other side of the room, setting the figure into a frenzy. He runs after her, berating her, slapping her. I don't know this girl, this man, but I feel compelled to help her. The pain in my head worsens and I let out a low wail of pain, like the sorrowful creaking of a long forgotten ship.
At this point the girl is sobbing, and for a split second the oppresive haze lifts. Without a moment's thought I lunge forward and grab the man's head in my massive hand. There's fear in his eyes as he looks at me, screams issuing from his throat, but strangely I don't care. All that matters to me at this point is the little one, so alone and afraid, and as I crush the figure's head in my fist I realize now what I must do. I turn to the girl and hold out my bloody hand. She stares at it for a moment until realizing as well, and gratefully takes it.
The pain finally having dissapated and the little one in tow, we leave the room together. She sings and skips joyfully beside me, stopping only once to beam up at me happily.
"Thank you, Mister Bubbles," she says quietly. We continue on, the rivet gun under my left arm mirroring the probe in hers, and for the first time in so many indeterminable hours, I feel at peace, as if I've finally found my calling. And we enter the halls of Rapture together, massive guardian and frail child, forever indebted to each other.
"Thank you."