Today, I will be writing out a tale, one which will not leave my head, while this is a crossover of Cry of Fear, the following on is simply too shrunken and inaccessible for new audiences, to the point where it this is the best method to push the material onto the front page for more than around three people. Our protagonist will be Simon Henrikkson, The protagonist of Cry of Fear, a man who is severely depressed, a suicidal, paranoiac, manic mess, however most importantly, isolated.

He loved a girl, whom did not reciprocate in any way, as Simon misconstrued her kind gestures of attempting to understand his pain as affection, which was unfortunately incorrect.

Simon, at the ripe age of 19 (or at least I'd assume.) was hit by a car while attempting to help an unnamed civilian, losing control of his legs.

Now, since it was never stated that Simon was permanently paraplegic, I will be allowing Simon to walk once more, it's a method for him to lose himself in the environment around him, indulge in the polluted, melancholic atmosphere, and forget his issues for a mere moment.

Throughout this story, Simon has a chance at growth of himself, to improve his body and mind, he is also provided the chance of friendship, and possibly romance, however the question is, will he actually take the chance at it, and ignore the possibility of betrayal, and learn to trust once more. A better question however is, will he even bother? He sees himself as a worthless husk of himself, a mess of pain pills, morphine, and scarring, more-so than we have seen. So why would anyone even bother with him in the first place?

NOW, THE CROSSOVERS INCLUDED WILL BE, BUT ARE NOT LIMITED TO:

CRY OF FEAR

AFRAID OF MONSTERS (We all need a little David Leatherhoff in our lives, similar to Simon, but in a different manner)

KATAWA SHOUJO

Now, Katawa Shoujo is being used as our base area for two main reasons, 1) I have played it before, and 2) It works for Simon Henrikkson and David Leatherhoff. They both have severe issues, and Simon can be sent as he has killed two people, although he wasn't convicted as he had a psychosis, a mental issue, in which he held no malice or intent, and thus would not be charged, However that case may have caused everywhere else to refuse him, and since Simon is young, but but not in the school ages, instead of typical school, I have plans for what he will be doing there course-wise. As for David, well, he will be younger in this story, at 17, he will be attending normal classes, and he will be there due to his addiction to pills, and his connection to Simon, since one of the endings shows David being the car which hit Simon.

And now, we begin.

"I've always felt alone my whole life.

For as long as I can remember.

I don't know if I like it... or if I'm just

used to it, but I do know this;

Being lonely does things to you, and feeling shit and bitter

and angry all the time just... eats away at you."

-Simon Henrikkson, before his psychosis.

Simon Henrikkson, In the flesh. Or at least, that's what I'm told. Being held in this prison, for months, without being let outside, or even seeing it. I don't remember the sky, the wind, the sound of cars, the bustling of people on their daily grind, all the malignant, ignorant nine-to-five workers who treat me like a blithering child.

I have been locked away in this cage with a distinct lack of a key, stuck in my own mind and slowly losing myself as the world around me slowly altered to a mere fragment of it's size, only Dr. Purnell and Sophie visited anymore, Purnell because it was his job, and Sophie because... I don't know, I caused her so much pain, I did so much shit that near ruined her life, and yet she still visits. There was however one other contact I had.

David Leatherhoff.

The man who hit me with a car that he didn't even own, or have any knowledge of, in a drug-crazed stupor.

Do I forgive him?

Not at all, I very readily admit that I hold grudges against people. But... In a way, I'm kind of thankful for it, since it has allowed my to... reconsider my life, and everything else.

Allow me to elaborate.

He is a drug-addict. The worst I've ever seen, and perhaps ever will. He's in the medical facility that I was never told the name of, due to said addiction, and by some divine intervention, he got the room across from me. And since there aren't doors in here segregating the cells, but electronically locked gates, We could converse while I healed my mutilated legs, and he had his pills ripped from him.

I knew that while I couldn't forgive him for his act against me, making me into the morphed globule of clumped and snapped bones, and stiffened flesh, more akin to pulp than actual muscle. I knew that he needed help, from someone who legitimately cared about his well-being, unlike some corrupt doctor, which was pretty much all of the staff here with the exception of Purnell.

So, we talked.

We had multiple common interests, we clicked pretty fast, but my suspicion of him was still present. He could do something stupid at any second due to his addition, be it due to withdrawal or overuse. I could end up dead in the blink of an eye, well, I'm not exactly living in here anyway, am I?

Eventually, after an inordinate amount of time - it felt much longer than it actually was – Leatherhoff and I received some good news for once. Since I am now referred to as "citizen" rather than the seemingly alien "paraplegic", My legs had recovered, and I was capable of walking, and even running if required, we were getting shipped off to an undisclosed location, for rehabilitation, however not for any physical issues, for my other... issues. My scars, my brands, and the barren, charred landscape of my psyche.

I was supposed to get transferred back into my societal norm in Sweden, but I have been all but assured that it's an impossibility at this point, and not just because of my memories tied to this city, within the streets of grey upon more grey, and the abyssal, murky pus which sweeps over this shithole, lies memento's and reminders of what I have been through here... what I have done here.

The other reason makes the scars from this town seem like a small nick. My family, what little I had, have all shunned me, called me the demon, when they are the ones who pushed me into said pain, they pushed me to that edge, winding up with a gun to simultaneously two law-abiding, prime excerpts of citizens, and myself. That one... That hurt the most. Throughout my psychosis I could feel every wound I received, and each one hurt, more-so than the last, and yet being immediately left for dead by my own flesh, so despicable, how dare they abandon their own son! That hurt the most, more than the bullets which continuously punctured my body like a pin cushion, the stabs, slashes, impalements, it all meant nothing compared to the proverbial annihilation of my soul.

So, since Purnell is my personal psychiatrist, He is shipping me off to an undisclosed location, via public plane, to a different country to one of his greatest, and most trustworthy colleagues. He didn't state a name, only that he was a nurse, he apparently preferred the more minor role, wasn't one for formality.

I guess if Purnell can trust him, so can I.

It's still foreign to me. I haven't left Sweden in... well... ever.

I don't know where I'm going.

But I have Leatherhoff to assist me, and apparently this nurse is trustworthy.

Perhaps I can heal the wounds, with time, and even if only slightly.

The airport. Filled with bustle, and yet still so stagnant of life, everything here is made of metal and brick, and despite the scale of the place, it still manages to be claustrophobic, as the people literally squeeze the air from your lungs as they mindlessly shuffle past, akin to that of cattle.

Dragging along the lethargic bag with my right arm, its flimsy wheels trundling and rumbling along the concrete flooring, solid as the shelling of a crab, with Leatherhoff on my right. David was equally as tired as I, however the man was not tired due to any kind of intoxicating nightmare, he instead awaited the morn, his insomnia pulling him down from his mental mindscape.

The plane was, by far, the worst part, A collective mass of bodies, shuffled along into their pens by the shepherds of the aerodynamic can. My anxiety, my paranoia, my hatred of humanity, was all building up, into a cauldron of decayed bramble and rusted metal, twinged with a orange hue.

The longer I sat aboard that plane, the tighter the bramble tightened on the rust like a noose around my neck, or the bullet to its magazine, strangled and enveloped in a cold iron shroud.

Landing was the only thing I found pleasant, sprinting from the both the plane and the airport as quickly as possible, apparently my cardio is pretty good for a recent ex-paraplegic, as David struggled to keep up, then again, he is in a constant state of pill withdrawal, and lethargic in general, come to think of it.

After several silent taxi travels, we finally arrived at our proposed destination. Slowly sliding my hand into my bag, fumbling slightly, grasping at nothing, until finally latching my fingers to a small, slightly creased shard of paper. Yanking it from the bag, I pull it up to my face.

Yamaku High School for Disabled Children.

That name stings, like ripping a scab, or the slitting of a wrist, that was "half-arsed."

Me and Leatherhoff aren't Disabled, at least, not anymore.

We are mentally scarred.

We are not meant for society.

We are doomed to burn in the deepest reaches of sheol, to a level below the ninth.

To Be Continued...

An authors note: I have decided on something, It won't be revealed until later, but remember these phrases.

"Heled."

"Raquia."

"Arqua."

"Shoel."

"The Gnarl."