The young woman scrambles across the misty docks, desperate to flee. She can't see a thing in the fog, but she can hear someone pursuing her. Suddenly she slips on the soggy wood, and she finds herself sprawled across the dock "No…:" she whispers as she hears the footsteps getting closer. She thrashes like mad, struggling to get back on her feet and far away from the stalker. She falls again, this time tripping on the edge of her own dress. "No!" She cries again. But the pounding footsteps are ever nearer, and the panting is right above her…she screams as she is pierced by the saw. Then, mercifully, everything went black.

"Not again…" The 'stalker' mutters as he finds himself tangled in the sheets of his bed, far away from the ominous docks of his dream.

Eric sighed and looked down at the stacks of paper on his desk. He hated paperwork. Eric really wasn't suited for a desk job. He was much better at things like prowling the streets at night, looking for someone who seemed pure. Eric smiles as he finds a perfect target. It takes him only seconds to steal the light from her eyes, like he had done this hundreds of times. Not hundreds. 1000.

Eric shuddered at the gruesome image. Where the hell were these morbid thoughts coming from?

"Hey, Slingby, is it really necessary to shiver in fear when I walk in the door?"

Eric looked up to find his boss staring at him amusedly. When did he get there…? "Sorry Mr. Evans. It had nothing to do with you."

"Don't worry about it, Slingby, you're just fun to mess with. Anyway, Vicarioli went home sick today. I think she's gonna be out for a while, looks like you're flu from last week's going around. You'll cover her work?"

Eric tried to smile, though it seemed more like a grimace. "Sure, Mr. Spears."

"Spears?" Mr. Evans raised an eyebrow.

Eric laughed falsely. "Did I do that again? I'm sorry Mr. Evans! I'll get started on Vicarioli's work right now."

The forced grin faded the moment his boss left the room. He could barely finish his own work, let alone Hannah's. He knew he should've started on SOMETHING, but all he really wanted to do was go home.

Eric awoke to something jabbing him furiously in stomach. To his dismay, it was only a pencil, courtesy of his friend Malcolm. "Christ Eric, wake up already!" Malcolm shouted. "What's with you lately?"

"Sorry Mal." Eric murmured, only half awake. "What's up?"

"What's up? Your house, Eric. Get going, you're gonna make me late for my date!"

Eric was shocked to find they really were parked outside of his house. When did they get here so fast? …When did he leave work?

"Eric, you feelin' all right? You getting another round of that flu?"

"…Yeah. Must be the flu." Eric said, more to reassure himself than anything else. "Thanks for the ride. Say hi to Tanya for me."

Malcolm's car was gone the second Eric stepped out. He did feel bad, he had made Malcolm late. But honestly, he could hardly remember the time passing since work.

Lost in his thoughts, Eric almost walked into his own front door. The moment he was in the house he reached for the medicine. "It must be the flu…" Eric whispered to himself as the tablet dissolved in his mouth. "It's just the flu."

Soul number 434 took his last, shuddering breath. Memories of the man's brief life paraded before him, but Eric barely acknowledged them. He was already searching for his next victim. He needed more...more souls, more blood spilt. 626 more. He was running out of time. He would be wondering where Eric was.

There. Eric's eyes lit up as he spotted a group of children down the road. They were trying to scare each other with tales of monsters. How ironic that the real monster was heading their way, and they would never know until his scythe pierced them. 435…436…437…438…439. It was sick and twisted, but he couldn't erase the giant grin spread across his face. Oh God, he was enjoying this too much.

…That didn't matter. Even if Eric lost himself, even Eric lost his mind, it meant nothing. This was for him. It was all for him…

"Alan Humphries, right?"

Eric awoke with a start. He was…in the office? Dammit, he again had no recollection of being at work. He could only remember the dream and…what was that name Mr. Evans said?

"Yes, sir."

A shiver ran down Eric's spine as he heard a voice he'd missed immensely. If he didn't know better he could have sworn it music, it was- wait what the fuck?

"Sir?" Mr. Evans laughed. "Mr. Evans is just fine. Well, welcome to Evans Corp! Here, let me get someone to show you around…SLINGBY!"

Eric rose with a sigh and started to walk out of his cubicle. He had barely left when he heard the angelic voice speak again, slightly panicked.

"Thank you, Mr. Evans, but I remember where everything is from the tour."

"All right then. Get to work."

Relieved the cubicle hid his disappointment, Eric sat back down at his desk. He'd wanted to see this strange man with the voice so familiar…

Eric strained to hear the man's soft footsteps as he walked down the hall. Even the way he walked had some strange familiarity to it. But at the same time…ugh this was so confusing. The dreams, the memory lapses, and now this strange man. Eric wanted it to all go away, to have everything just be-

Eric's thoughts were cut off by the loud sound of a chair being pushed in. "You've got to be kidding me…" Eric grumbled. "Alan Humphries" was in the cubicle right next to his.