-Chapter 1: They Meet

I've always been a bystander. Just an observer. Watching the world go by while I waited for death to welcome me into the deep, dark, abyss. To feel the cold wrap around me as I'm swallowed into the clutches of eternal slumber. I didn't have aspirations. No dreams. No purpose. No reason to live.

My life is meaningless. I should have never been born. All I do is waste precious oxygen. My psychiatrist says otherwise, though. I keep my distance from people because I'm afraid if I get too close to someone, I would just get hurt. No one really cares for anyone else. I've experienced that kind of pain once, and I don't intend on making the same mistakes.

I may think that way, but I long to have friends. Someone to talk to, laugh with, and maybe even cry with. I cry a lot. I don't know why, it just happens. I'd get these urges and curl up into a ball in the corner of the room just so that I can cry my eyes out for the next hour, maybe longer.

I'm just waiting. Watching everything unravel in front of me. I'm a shut-in. No one could ever possibly understand me. My real feelings. I'm so very lonely. It's so painful. So cold and dark. I don't think I'll ever escape the darkness. If there's a way out, I want to know because I can't take it anymore.

I've always thought the same thing. I'm worthless. I have no purpose. If I died right now, who would care? Would anyone know? Would anyone cry over my grave? Probably not. I've thought all of this to be the truth. Well, that is, until I killed someone.

He was a young man. He seemed to be assaulting another person. A person who seemed to be the kind with those waiting for him to come back home. What would happen if he were gone? Would someone cry? Probably. They'd be lonely. They'd be like me. The thought was enough to make my blood boil.

How could someone possibly force the cold, the dark, the loneliness, the suffering, upon another human being? I immediately ran to the two men and punched the guy in the face. He fell to the ground.

"Wha...?" he asked in confusion. He saw me standing there, in a ready stance with both fists clenched. Ready to repeat my action if need be. "How dare you..." I whispered. "What was that?" he said.

"HOW DARE YOU!" I yelled this time. He got up. "It's easy, really. Although not as easy as this!" he replied. His face contorted into a twisted, sick smile and he raised a dagger from within his jacket and lunged toward me. I managed to dodge the first attack and he ended up slashing at the air.

I then came up behind him and flashed my own sinister grin. "Surprise," I whispered and before he could turn around I grabbed his arm, forcing him to stay in his position if he didn't want me to break it.

I then realized that the dagger was in the other hand and his smile widened. He reached behind him and slashed at my chest. The side of my torso had a minor gash in it. Nothing too serious. I wasn't worried about that.

The man stabbed at me from every angle. When he had finally stopped, I had a few more cuts on my face, chest, legs, and right arm. There was a rather large wound on my shoulder. Almost like he was trying to cut my arm off, but I wasn't done with him.

The smile never left my face. "What are you grinning about? I'm the one who's about to kill ya," with that, he ran toward me but slower than the other times. I knew it. I tired him out. He tried to stab me, but I dodged it and punched him in the face with my good arm. "Gotta be quicker than that," I teased.

I ran towards him and grabbed the dagger. I was behind him, so my first reflex was to stab him. The knife went through his back with a horrifyingly sick sound. "Gotcha," I said quietly into his ear. He screamed in pain. It seemed that everyone was avoiding the situation because no one even cared about the scream. Not a single person displayed even an ounce of concern or curiosity. I guess that's a good thing.

He fell to the floor and I kneeled next to him, enjoying the sound of his breath slowing down and becoming more ragged. He was struggling to keep his heart beating. I hit something vital, good for me. I willed his heart to stop completely when I shoved the knife through his chest, ultimately ending his life. Just to be sure, though, I quickly lodged the knife through his head, making it futile for him to ever wake up from his state of dreamless sleep.

Night had fallen, and I stood up. I looked down at his body. Would killing him bring about a sense of loneliness to anyone else? Probably not. Some one who would assault an unarmed pedestrian wouldn't have a family. Or anyone. He was probably like me in a sense that we were both lonely. Anticipating death's arrival. Waiting for the end. Well, he got his wish.

Then the thought hit me with full force. Killing him. I just killed a man. Brutally. Several stab wounds which happened at some point in our fight. I had a rather serious injury on my right shoulder, and there was a witness curled up right across from me in a corner. He saw most of it. Even in the dark of night I could see his cobalt blue eyes looking at me. Staring. Burning craters in my entire body. His blonde hair was messy and his face displayed bruises with a heck of a story to tell.

My face, however, was covered in hair. My hair was also matted down and sticking to my face. He couldn't see what I looked like. He could only see my oceanic blue eyes gazing back at him. He was scared, I noticed, when I saw him shaking. I could see that he didn't watch the whole fight because his focus wasn't on the body. He was afraid of me, not his original attacker.

We held the eye contact for what seemed like hours but was only mere minutes before he spoke up, clearing his throat first. "D-did you kill him?"

I nodded. "Thank you... You saved me." He seemed less afraid now.

"Who are you?" he asked me, looking up at me through his fringe. I don't know if I should really tell him. I mean, I can't afford to be close to anyone. "My name isn't important right now," I stated, still keeping my gaze locked firmly with his. "Oh my god. Your arm...! It's- It's hurt," he gasped, seeing the gash I had on my shoulder.

I looked down at my shoulder, the pain has subsided and I didn't feel anything in my entire arm anymore. "It doesn't really hurt, it's just injured. I can't feel it. At all. Really," I tried reassuring him, failing.

"That's even worse!" He stood up and walked toward me. The gash is visible because my shirt ripped.

He checked it out, "Uh-huh, I can fix this. It seems that you aren't losing anymore blood but I still need to stitch it and wrap it up." I thanked him but declined politely. "No, thanks. I can do it. I just need to get home."

I started to walk away but he grabbed my wrist which stretched it out. I winced and gasped in pain. "God, that hurt." He apologized and continued insisting that I should go with him.

"Please? It's the least I could do to repay you for protecting me. Er, saving me. I- I don't really know what would have happened if you had hadn't saved me." I reluctantly agreed and he started walking forward, still grasping my arm tightly.

"Shouldn't you be worrying about yourself? You've received quite the beating as well," I said, gesturing to his bruised and bloody face. He stopped and nodded, "I'll do that after I help you," he said and kept walking.

He almost tripped over the attacker's body. Oh yeah, I forgot about that. "Wait... Before we do anything else, what are we gonna do about him? I mean, we can't just leave him here... Can we?" he mulled it over. "Sure we can, no one saw anything. We can just hide the evidence," I suggested, sounding like I've done this all my life. Man, I was not proud of how calm I was being. "Wow, you really do sound like a criminal..." he said. "I know, but we don't really have any other choice now, do we?" I replied walking toward the body.

I told him to grab the arms and I grabbed the legs. The entire place was deserted and I could tell that people were avoiding coming near here. We grabbed the body and took it to a near-by place where people stowed their trash. We dropped it there, he looked like a homeless man who was killed by some random stranger. I have a feeling that's what he was. Maybe he was just a homeless man on the brink of death, assaulting innocent people in his spare time because that's all he had left. Thinking he could gain something.

Would we get in trouble? I don't know. Did I care? Not really. All I knew was that I had just saved another man's life and now I'm going to his house. How did I get myself so deep into this mess? Usually, in these situations, I would just walk faster and pretend that the thought of helping the person had never crossed my mind.

There was something about this man, though, that made it different. I don't know how, but this situation bothered me more than most. I want to know more about this person, but I refuse to expose myself to him. I just want to learn about him, I refuse to let him get to know me. It's kind of weird.

"Well, now that that's out of the way, I suggest we go home and never turn back." When I started walking away, he tugged at the sleeve of my good arm. "Are you sure it doesn't hurt?" I nodded. "Are you positive that I can't know your name?" I nodded again. "Well, if it makes any difference, I'm Pewdiepie," I smiled.

"Pewdiepie, huh? I have a feeling that's not your real name. I think I've heard it before, though. Try all you want, though, I won't tell you mine." He sighed.

"Worth a shot."

"Well, for now, you can just call me..." I thought about it, "Cryaotic. Cry's fine, too," I answered, quite impressed with my alias. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Cry." He held his hand out as I let him lead me to his house. "Nice to meet you, too, Sir Pewdiepie."

And it was in that instance, when my hand connected with his, that I had the feeling this guy was gonna change my entire life.

~At Pewdiepie's house~

It took everything I had to keep from screaming when Pewdie put pressure and alcohol on my open wounds. He told me he was going to have to stitch them all. When he told me take off my shirt, he gasped softly.

"What? Is it that bad?" I took a look at my bare chest and it was my turn to gasp. I suddenly started wondering why I hadn't died of blood loss yet. I mean, with this many stab wounds and gashes, one would have already passed out at least, right?

I, on the other hand, kept fighting. I felt fine, just a little sting. Pewdie finished. He had stitched my wounds while I kept thinking about the fact that I was a murderer.

I killed a man, and the worst part is... I actually enjoyed it. I gave me a sort of rush. It was exhilarating. I knew that I should stop thinking about it and probably get in the shower. Wash off all the blood.

I stood up and asked Pewdie if I could use his bathroom and he nodded pointing up the stairs. "Down the hall, second door on the left," he explained. I nodded, walking down and following his instructions on where to go. Before I could enter, I remembered that I had no clothes.

"Pewdie!" There was a slight pause.

"Yeah?" he answered, finally.

"I didn't bring any clothes... Can I, uh... Maybe borrow some?"

"Sure, they'll be laid out on the bed in the guest room. The next room down on the right." I heard shuffling and Pewdie walking up the stairs.

I closed the door to the bathroom and locked it just in case. Then I quickly undressed, not wanting him to wait for me. I hate that. It's the most uncomfortable feeling ever, being waited on. Even if that person were to be somewhere else, you can still feel their eyes on you. Watching every move you make and trying to usher you into being quicker.

I stepped into the shower after letting the water warm up a little, enjoying the stream of water hitting my head and running down my back. I don't know how long I was in there, but it was enough time for my mind to drift off to my family.

My family... Murdered by the psychopath I call my father. He shot my mother, my brother, and himself. The only reason he spared my life was because he wanted me to suffer, to live with the memory, he wanted me to die, but not by his hand. He hated me most of all...

When the shower was over, I stepped out and used a towel that was on the counter. I hope Pewdie won't mind.

When I was finished drying off, I opened the door and scurried down to the next door on the right. Just as he said, some pajamas were laid out on the bed, but another thing caught my eye... It was a mask. Made out of plastic. It was white with a poker face painted onto it. The thing that mostly stood out, though, was the antenna that seemed to come off it in a curl and never stood straight.

I decided to put it on because it seemed like it took a lot to make it and if he went through all that trouble, why not tend to his wishes? I wondered just how long it took him to make the mask and why. Was I really in the shower for that long? Was it because he could sense that I didn't want to show my face? It seemed that my face was the most scarred place on my body after the fight.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I loved the mask. It really kept me anonymous. I pulled it up to look at my scars. One that I thought was distinct was the biggest scar on my face, it ran from the top of my eyebrow, down my eyelids to my cheek. Pewdie never treated the scars on my face because I didn't want my face seen, so it was still fresh. I put a hand on it and realized that it was still stinging. A lot.

I gasped in pain. How had I not noticed that? As a matter of fact, why hadn't that killed me? I certainly had too many scars to have been able to live.

I chuckled slightly, "Am I even human?"

I pulled the mask back down. I've only had it for five minutes, but I can tell that this mask is special. It gives me a sense of security. Makes me feel safe. It helps me keep up the foundation around myself. Hiding my physical scars as well as my psychological ones.

I walked back into the living room and sat next to Pewdiepie who was looking out the window. It had begun to rain and tiny droplets clung to the glass, some sinking down and others merging with each other. Rain had always been my favorite weather, even as a child. I would always pull a chair next to the window and sit there, elbows propped up on the window pane and my hands under my chin. Pretending the drops of water were racing. It was entertaining. Sometimes, when it was alright with my mother, I would go outside and sit on the ground. The rain calmed and soothed me.

Now, it makes me happy, if only momentarily. Sitting in my house, looking out the window, doing the same thing I used to do all those years ago. Taking me back to simpler times before everything in my life was destroyed.

"I think I'm going to go to bed..." Pewdie's voice snapped me out of my reverie. "Alright, then. Um, thanks again for letting me borrow the clothes," I answered him.

"You're welcome. You can sleep in the guest room. Goodnight," he said as he walked away to what I assumed was his room. Leaving me to become buried in my own thoughts and memories.

~Pewdiepie~

As I had finished cleaning Cry's wounds, I noticed he was sort of spaced out. It's amazing how he was able to stay up. He hadn't even showed any signs of pain or anything. It's like he's inhumane.

He wore a mask of indifference upon his face, which I noticed was still covered by his hair. It seems he doesn't feel comfortable revealing his identity. That was fine with me, I don't need to know who he is. At least, for now.

When I finished, he stood up and asked if he could use my shower. He was covered in blood. I agreed and told him where to go. When he walked away, I thought about how I was going to gain his trust. I then thought about how he didn't want me to see his face. I think I should make him a mask. He won't feel the need to cover up any more.

"Pewdie!" Cry's voice distracted me when I was making the blue-prints in my mind. I had gotten a white, blank mask. Come to think of it, why do I even have this? Then I remembered Cry.

"Yeah?" I answered, after a bit of a pause.

"I didn't bring any clothes... Can I, uh... Maybe borrow some?" He asked me, hesitantly.

"Sure, they'll be laid out on the bed in the guest room. The next room down on the right." I put the stuff down and started walking past the bathroom. I got out some of my pajamas and laid them out on the guest room bed.

Then I quietly walked back into the living room and decided to draw a poker face on the mask. I drew two plain black circles around the eye-holes and an equally plain black line for the mouth. Then I took a bit of wire and attached it to the top, making it come off in a curl. I set it down in the guest room, on top of the clothes I laid out for him. I hope he likes it.

I sat back down in the living room and noticed that it started raining. Rain, my least favorite weather. It's so gloomy and dark. It reminds me of the time that Marzia left me. I don't know why, she just said that she needed a break. She said that she didn't know if she was going to come back but that day was when I lost all hope.

I felt the other side of the couch sink in and I knew Cry was sitting next to me. A glance over my shoulder confirmed my suspicions that he was wearing my mask. That means a lot.

After about half an hour of watching the drops of water trail down the window, I stood up and decided to go to bed. "You can sleep in the guest room. Goodnight," I told him as I walked out of the room.

I went to my room and closed the door. After changing into my own pajamas, I turned the light off and crawled into bed. It took about an hour for me to fall asleep, thoughts of Marzia and the mysterious man behind the mask, who I now know as Cryaotic.