It was cold, so very cold. He laughed as he muttered to himself, seeing everything and nothing at once. He held his hands to his face, searching for something besides flesh, as if he could confirm there was more to him than bone, muscle, and marrow.

The man fell to the ground, shaking. His cries went unheard, his screams ignored. It felt so terrible, so very terrible. He'd been promised freedom. And that thing had delivered. Freedom, freedom! Freedom from this world! Freedom from this madness! Take a look behind the curtain and see what stares back. What great fun that man promised, and how great his suffering was.

Couldn't they see it? Couldn't the blind see the darkness? Couldn't they see their strings, how they were controlled? Puppets, puppets! Sick dogs following the treat on a a stick.

Darkness enfolded him. It slithered and dripped down upon his back. It gave him form, it gave him life. He loved it. He hated it. But he was powerless, powerless to defeat it. Pawns like him could not command, could not control, could not do anything except bow and serve.

If only he'd been born in the light. If only he'd been one to walk around the surface. They had it all. The power to dictate their fate and the power to make it. He heard their footsteps. Oh. How loud they were. They stomped around and commanded those in the darkness. They didn't see anything inside except a shadow and a game. That's all they were. A game. A game to be played with and forgotten. A game to rot in moldy basements and worn down computer laps, as rats ate away at them and left pipes went drip, drip, drip.

And his people, how he pitied them! Perhaps ignorance was bliss but what a burden this ignorance was!

They enjoyed this treatment. They didn't know. How could they? When all of your life you think you have autonomy, how could you imagine otherwise? They saw those on the surface as their masters, made to serve them wholeheartedly. The chess pieces were always made to fall over. Dominos could only stay in a line for so long. Teddy bears were left in closets to gather dust and moth balls. And all of this was considered their fault. They did not play hard enough. They did not ensure they had fun.

It wasn't a game, it was life, their accursed life.

He'd thought the same too, for the longest while. That all he could do was serve, all he'd amount to was a few lines of code and a goofy grin. Born and raised a salesman, filling up your screen with ads that made any man want to groan in frustration. The dollar sign was his life. Always sell, sell, sell, rush to the latest product, give the best deals, usurp his competition! Let the money flow, let fortune reign as greed seized his heart! If he just had more, then he'd be happy. If he could meet his next quota, then finally he could relax.

The funny thing is, the more you have, the more you desperately try to cling to it. He got buyers and then he craved more. He met his milestones and then was thinking about where to go next. He drained one market and set out to devour another.

And it was fun at first! The rush of your first sale, the art of making what you had stand out above the rest. Scam the dimwitted and learn how to lie to all you know, even to yourself. He was exceptional at the latter. He'd convinced himself that this was his passion, his purpose! It was all he lived for and all he'd ever be! This life was good, who cared about those pesky chains! He didn't mind if this was all he had in life. Those tears meant nothing!

He was happy! And that was the best lie he'd ever spun.

Funny how quickly things can unravel. Where good plans go sour.

Maybe the pressure had gotten to him. Maybe the job was too much. But you smile so long and it begins to wear on you. Static began to fill his vision. Ads and deals and numbers and statistics filled his head and he couldn't get them out. Everything he saw, everything he lived, breathed, died, was for the market. He couldn't turn a corner without thinking of another method of exploitation. Always someone to backstab. Couldn't have any friends, now could he? Friends would leave you behind. Friends would lie to you. Friends would leave you in a ditch, sobbing, while they went to chase their own success! They couldn't share it with him! They couldn't compromise! It was him or them, no in-between.

He remembered what they said to him, long ago when he was a lowly salesmen, the words that put passion into his heart and inspired him to reach for the stars.

Don't you want to be a big shot?

Now, he didn't know anymore.

Bigger, better, stronger! Never stop climbing, reach the peak! Where was the peak? Was there even a best? He didn't know, so keep climbing! Even as the hail pelted his face, even as his body went numb from frostbite, he could just keep going!

All problems could be solved by working harder!

Eventually, it became all too much. His items waited in their queue, his ads came to a halt. He'd spend hours in his room, banging his head against the wall. The phone kept ringing, ringing, ringing, and his vision weaved from side to side, in and out.

Who was on the line? Who dared bother him? Leave him alone, let him rot. Let him suffer, let him die and writhe on the earth as his body gave out. Let him never see the sun and realize how cold it was, how they were all frozen, trapped in space and slaves to their masters. He could see the world spinning, as it turned and turned and never got better. It will never get better!

They were trapped, trapped! Nobody was free. Live in a cage and call it a kingdom.

But still, he thought he had some semblance of free will. That he, above all others, was closer to being liberated.

How wrong he was.

The phone kept ringing. He'd be rude to keep ignoring it.

He picked up the receiver.

Click.

That was the moment his life changed.

He heard nothing at first. Just breathing. Though moaning would be the more apt term. Like a sigh of pain, as if words for whoever was on the other end were painful. Like talking made blood dribble down your chain.

The rest of the world faded away as he listened. Everything else became pixelated, lifeless, as dead as he and everyone else were. He couldn't understand a word, couldn't comprehend a thing. Or did he? Garbage noise. Humming and coughing and wheezing and screaming on the other end. He would hang up, but he couldn't. He couldn't stop listening. It all made sense, too much sense. There was language in the chaos! There was meaning in the storm! He could hear it perfectly! How could he call it garbage noise. The pieces were falling together, the canvas was almost complete!

How could the truth be any different? Perhaps he was close to it before he fell, before his market collapsed and garbage was the only suitable pillow for him these days. When his friends, who had left him at the height of his glory, now regarded him with disgust and laughter. They were the joke! And they weren't even in on it! Free will, self determination, the greatest lie pulled over the face of this dark world! Dolls, worthless dolls, rubbish for the scrap heap.

He began talking back. His mouth contorted and warped, and he spoke in a primal language, the tongue of chaos, the song of the chasm. Speaking with his hands, his mouth and eyes, his body moving to the echo of the abyss. Space tore around him, he could see hands reaching out. They grabbed his face, patted his head. They danced and did a little jingle, got into his head and wiggled around. They tore back space and matter and light and he saw...everything. How it all worked, how it ticked. Their true forms, trapped in an abandoned classroom where their owners had forgotten about them. And what was to come, the heroes from the land of light.

Descending. Descending down into the darkness. With them. Writhing in the pit. Torn across space and time. Mad. Mad. Mad. Can't talk, can't breath, can only listen. Listen to the roar and die. But you can't die. You don't want to die. Everything is telling you to give up and give out. Be no more.

Even your soul, the culmination of your being, was about to shatter.

But it refused.

But he refused.

He kept talking. The line was dead.

It was just garbage noise, right?

He thought he'd spread the good news! Everyone loved the truth! Many people devoted their whole lives to the truth, so wouldn't they accept him with open arms? He packed his garbage sack right away and set out! Anywhere people could find him he'd speak, just as that man spoke to him. In alleyways, in seedy bars and taverns, he'd pour his heart out. It was just a game! It's always been a game! Stop caring! Stop trying! Be free, you could never be free!

They always laughed him off. Never understanding what he was saying, telling him to quit talking and go away. Even as he begged at their knees to listen, even as his voice became broken and mangled, as he could never quite find the proper [hyperlink blocked] to convey what he wanted to [@%, he tried. Didn't his people love him as he loved them, weren't they tired of being dogs on a leash?

Thrown out, kicked to the curb, eating soddy water, lapping it up like a diseased dog. Then he realized. And he laughed. Because he was so stupid! They didn't want to be free! The cage was preferable when the cage was comfy! There could be a whole world waiting outside and they'd just deny it because moving was inconvenient. When it was inconvenient, it was evil and he was the crazy one.

Who was the crazy one now! He jeered at them as they threw out his things, as they poured his belongings into a dumpster, even as he begged them to reconsider. Who was insane then! The one who could see through the bars or the one who thought the bars were for show? That man was right, he was always right! They'd never accept the truth. To them, there was no truth.

But he could see it. Oh, how he could see it. Even as he built a mansion of trash he still, laughed to himself. They were coming. And he'd take his chance. He'd strike back at God and take a stab at heaven.

Not long now.

Darkness. It spilled forth from the earth and gave them form. The intangible became tangible, underground and surface connected at last. He grinned from ear to ear as he saw its creation, the cogs turning in the wheel of time. Soon, they'd arrive. He didn't know who they were, or what they wanted. But, just as the fountain was born so would the heroes from the light follow.

He could take them, one by one, and be free. Be free and flee to the light. Dwell in the light and laugh at the dark. Who could be the crazy one then? Who would be laughing then? Every time he'd been denied, every time he'd been pushed aside and called worthless, he would have his compunence.

Payback, payback!

They found him in the trash, two street rats fighting in the muck. He could see it as soon as he looked in their eyes. Nothing, absolutely nothing. Dead eyes, misted over glass. If shattered there'd be nothing on the other side. He shivered, for in those eyes that reflected nothing he saw himself. How colorful they were, compared to him. They said nothing as he approached, as he fired off a barrage of words that drew no reaction.

Come on, give him something! Give him an audience, give him applause! Where were his fans, where were those watching?

Or were they watching. Eyes popping up on his flesh. In the walls, in the gutters, never blinking and staring, staring, staring, endlessly as he screamed into the night and toothy grins laughed at him to a sky without starlight-

There was no audience.

"Why hello there, little one! Fancy a game, a gamble for your life?"

His eyes honed in on one thing.

Oh, momma!

Look at that, shining and red. Glittering in their core, sending out waves of power and determination. The power to control fate, all stored in a beating red soul. How he wished for such a thing, how he could rip it out of their chest. Then, donning it as his own, he could ascend to heaven and walk in the light!

But why not? Why couldn't he? Just take it. Take what he deserved. Take what he needed. Rip it out of their body, make them an unrecognizable corpse. They were an oppressor, after all. How many more would they make pawns if they let him go? How many lives would be spared if he took theirs now?

He leapt, and they drew their sword. Up and down, left and right. They moved as if pulled around, like a puppet on strings.

No matter, he had no problem cutting them off!

"Come on kid, let's make a deal! Your soul, your life, and I'll compensate you for it."

He tapped his brow, thinking.

"How about...fifty?"

No response.

They kept coming.

Slashing and slashing and slashing. Body turning red, going numb, kicked and beaten and punched as ligaments were torn and tendons snapped. What fun, what foolish fun! He'd never felt so alive! At least now, someone was giving him attention. Finally, some recognition around here. How nimble they were, how fast! He'd kill to have a body like that.

Then again, maybe he could.

One final attack, his mouth opened and he spoke. The room shook, garbage and debris were pulled down his gullet, and they were caught in his current. Pulled on, hanging on for life, making scratches in the stone. Close, closer, be sucked in and let him munch.

They let go.

Slash.

He screamed, and fell to the ground.

They began walking away.

"Wait…."

They said nothing.

Ignored, once again.

Just scuttle away, little street rat.

"Hah…"

"Hahahahahahahahahahaha…"

He slammed one fist against the stone, as his knuckles were rubbed raw and red.

Why was he still so weak? He laughed at this, even as he coughed up blood. Why couldn't he take care of one, foolish child? So dark, so very dark, the shadows were cutting deeper. They seeped into his skill, they were in his flesh. Why couldn't he just run? Wherever he went, they would follow, the shadows would find him, they always did! In the dumpster or in the finest castle he was licked before the game started!

"...Get stronger…."

He rose up, shaking. He could barely move, much less stand, but he did so anyways. The pain didn't bother him, nor did the ache, he just knew one thing.

If he could just get stronger, if he could get wings, then he'd be able to fly away.

The light. The light. Use the power of the light.

He heard whispering. The phone was ringing.

Garbage noise. It paved the way. Pointed the path. Pushed him along and strangled him by the throat. Left him no choice but to move, move, move. Never stop. Otherwise the noise would return. It would get in his head and go bang and boom and he would burst. Keep going, it's closer, he was so close.

There was a dream. A dream beating in the night. Created by a trembling hand long ago, color splashed onto a canvas to make a new body, a host for a lonely soul. He had spent hours on that creation, purple and black, strobe lights and an adoring audience. But it was for nought. It had been left, abandoned and discarded, along with the other corrupted data in the darkness of the deeps. Sink further into the shadows, further and further till he was at the bottom of hell's depths.

Only by glimpsing the deepest darkness could he fly to the highest summit.

Dead leaves crackled under his feet. He limped, blood and sweat and tears adorning his garb. A trail of blood made its way down a staircase, leading up to him. It was quiet, bones of dead nice and rats littering the ground. He smelled mold and dust, as if nobody had been here in a long while.

He leaned against a wall. Sitting down, he put his head against his knees. Shaking, rocking himself back and forth. He wondered if it was even all worth it. If it would be better if he went back to being a salesman. If maybe his dreams of the light were just that, dreams. If the darkness and the cold and the blight were all symptoms of a diseased mind.

He held his head, the world around him crumbling. Maybe he should just lie down and rest. Maybe he should give up and-

GET UP.

What?

GET UP.

It screamed in his head. He crawled, unable to walk. Static, his eyes went dark. He saw nothing, only the dust on the ground, only the bones piercing his hands. Leave him alone. Let him be. He didn't want this. He didn't want this deal. It was a bad deal. It was a trick. It was a-

A scam.

How poetic.

What he'd done unto others had been done unto him.

The light was close. He could almost taste it.

It was bitter.

Footsteps. Behind him.

Someone was coming.

Better hurry up now. Better hurry and inherit his birthright.

Down another hallway. Step after step, one foot after another. His breathing was ragged, and he just wanted to sleep. Oh, how nice sleep would be. Dream of a better world, a better future. But he would meet a dream soon. A broken dream. Yet even dreams that were never realized were powerful. In them there was hope, no matter how small. He could use some hope right now, some reassurance. All he knew these days was terror and chains.

He just wanted his freedom. Was that too much to ask? For those strings that had him ensnared to be cut.

He saw it, right ahead. It was flickering. Lights bobbed in and out, sparks flying off a half rusted robot, almost dead in this basement. It's head was down, shadows obscured its eyes. Almost looked like a corpse, as if it had given up on itself.

He smiled. But he hadn't given up. The road had been hard, but he'd never given in! And now freedom was so close. He could see the light. He could be free! He could tell everyone and anyone who told him otherwise that he'd succeeded!

He could finally be kind to himself.

One more step, just reach out his hand and take the future by its reigns.

With a trembling hand he gripped its metallic shell, and plunged his fingers straight into its heart.

It was warm in his hands. Wires snapped and rusted levers broke as he ripped the beating core out of the dark. It was glowing, pumping with the essence of a forgotten dream. He could see, feel, the story behind the object, see the face who'd designed it. He felt an odd feeling of nostalgia, feeling so close to a person he never knew. How he wanted to reach out and crush that pretty face, take that soul and let someone else lurk in the dark.

But this would be enough, this would be his golden ticket. His one way ride to the pearly gates! Hold on Michael, hold on Saint Peter, he was coming home. And no God or demon or beast would hold him down.

Tap, tap, tap.

He looked behind him and grinned.

He heard the pitter-patter of boots against mushy soil. Drawing closer yet closer. Who'd ever want to come down to this place?

Unless…

Somehow, they knew. Maybe they made the right call. Maybe that voice called them. So that's how it was, huh? Couldn't get anything free these days, now could he?! Just had to throw a few more obstacles his way! All right then, all right. He could work with this. That just meant there was an audience to his greatness. Finally, someone could marvel and appreciate him for the genius that he was.

Then after that, no more games. No more traps. No more calls in the dead of right as his face went blue, the phone's chord bound his neck. Just let him go. He'd worked so hard for this, no more setbacks!

"You hear me! After this, I'm done! Go torment someone else! I'm done with your deals! I've done what you wanted! You've shown me heal and given me no escape! So you know what, this is on me. This is my glory, my victory. And you're not getting any piece of the pie."

He threw his phone at the wall, and it shattered.

"We're through!"

Still, that voice was on the line. Speaking in hands, speaking in numbers, pressing its face against his with that cracked, miserable smile.

YOU'RE ONLY DONE WHEN I SAY YOU'RE DONE.

The heart became crimson in his hands. Called out to him, stroked his soul. Became fleshy and metallic and beautiful and disgusting all at once.

Take it. Take my power and fly.

He laughed.

It was hollow.

"Fine then….One last show, right old friend?"

He crushed it in his hands, and a glow enveloped him.

The power seeped into him, and he began to grow bigger, bigger, better!

"Let's give them a show they won't forget."

Growing. Bigger, stronger, faster! His body bulged and twisted, folding in on itself. He squealed in childish delight. Finally, his big break, his curtain call! Sweet, sweet justice for the years spent in obscurity! The lights were on him now, he was the star. Coming in through stage right he could take to the floor. Where was his audience? Those boots were coming closer. So close, like he could reach out and strangle the intruder. But he wouldn't. Because he wanted to play. So much work, so little fun. Time to crack his muscles and take this baby for a spin!

He didn't bleed as his skin peeled off. Nor did he scream. It was painful, but to him it was more of a tickle. He was used to pain, he's grown up in pain. So as metal and machinery replaced his flesh he only giggled. As two wings ripped out from his back he clapped and shouted, "More, More!" Smoke came from a muzzle as he took a pot shot at a wall, sending stone and dirt flying as he grinned, eyeing his firepower.

A shadow slithered across the floor. Someone stood, hidden in the darkness. The soft glow of his body illuminated their blue skin, a suit of armor covering them.

"So you've returned. Come to take my deal?"

They didn't speak. Just kept walking.

A bead of sweat came down his brow.

"What, nothing? No reason for why you came here? No declaration of heroism."

Step after step, eyes hidden under their hair, as if hiding what they contained. Perhaps there was more than dulled glass now.

"Come on! Say something!"

Blank look, empty face.

He charged up his cannon.

"STOP IGNORING ME!"

A glimmer of crimson, and they energy met tempered steel. They grunted, and pushed against the beam of light with their blade. Another push, and they were through, dispersing the energy around the room.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

So powerful. Look momma, look at how strong he was! Weren't you finally proud? Hasn't your little boy grown up? He's finally going places momma! He's going to be a star! The crouds will adore him, the world will love him! He'll fly higher than anyone else!

He was finally free.

Momma…..

Why are you crying?

He shivered, and the chill of the world overcame his elation.

It was in his bones, frost hung from his skull. Made his limbs numb, had made him numb for a while. That's why they couldn't see. They were so numb to the pain, the indecision, that they couldn't see two feet in front of them. But why him? It was still so dark. Had this not been enough? Why was the light still out of his reach?

What had he done wrong?

He was being pulled along. On strings, suspended in the air. They were still here. And the farther he climbed the more visible they were.

He sighed.

So it wasn't really enough then.

He sighed, than licked his lips and smiled.

But one, crimson light glimmered in the darkness.

And he could see them now. Truly look past the dead glass and see them for what they were.

"Oh, you poor thing. How about I relieve you of your pain?"

Were they all like them? Because if so he was in some real trouble! What a funny joke that would be, that even those in the light were chained up, hearts in a cage.

Might as well take a stab at it anyways. One last desperate lunge for the light.

And if it failed, oh well.

He'd just go back to his old ways.

They stood, waiting for the other to move. No other life in sight, the world revolving around them.

He pivoted, then began running.

How, oh how he wondered, did this poor soul end up in this predicament? Their eyes, their eyes, how they told such an interesting story. A slave, just like him. How long had it been, hmm? Their whole life, only a moment. And what was more interesting was their tether. If they had not always been like this, then how would one exist without a soul? You'd be a walking corpse, a waking zombie, you'd be practically nothing without it.

A diseased ridden, pitiful vessel.

Don't worry, your best friend was going to fix this for you.

They met in the middle, and they slashed downward. He deflected it with his arm, pushing them up.

Their eyes found a different target. Thrown into the air they slashed at his strings, cutting down a few before falling back to the ground.

We're they...doing him a favor? Were they trying to free him, do him a favor because they understood?

He fought back tears.

"Do you know what it's like, being like this? Every decision at every moment is at the whim of someone else."

They nodded. It was brief, but it was enough.

He looked down, and whimpered.

Either way, one of them would live, and one would die. Perhaps neither would be truly free.

"Then I'm truly sorry."

He raised his cannon, and its glow illuminated their eyes, now revealed and shining.

"Let us finish this."

He wondered if he was doing the right thing. But they stood against him.

There was no going back.

They were like an eagle, diving down on him as he constantly blocked his attacks. Strike after strike, each threatening to end his life. He really didn't know why they bothered. He was almost honored really. Someone cared enough to kill him! But he saw the cool fury in their eyes, how their hand trembled as they dealt blow after blow, as his cannon lit up the night. They were burnt, bruised, and bleeding, yet still they advanced. What fire, what vigor! It was almost a pity he'd have to end them.

And perhaps that was why. They could not coexist. He would not let someone know how trapped they were. If they were ignorant he could let it be, but to see the bars and be so powerless to move your cage, he could not abide by that. But their prison was different from his. His was a matter of existence. His existence depended upon the will of another. Yet they were something else. They existed in every way, space was drawn towards them, they stood out like a rose in a field of wilted flowers.

They had a will. Or rather, some semblance of it. They could think, they could choose. But that soul, it bound them, held them to the wall and made them submit. It was a prison just as much as his existence was. If he took it, if he tore it from their bleeding chest, would he be imprisoned? Would he fly into the light, only to be dragged back down?

Only one way to find out.

Gah! What a little mouse they were. Avoiding every attack, only striking when necessary. Look at him, he was more marked up than a pin cushion! He'd block and they'd leap off him, cutting some more of his stings.

He was wobbling now, hanging on by a thread.

At least if they fell, he could fly away.

"Just lie still, why don't you?"

Quicker and quicker, they attacked with some eagerness as his head steamed and he grew more weary. String after string, cut after cut, as the void howled around them, as the shadows threatened to cut them off from the land of the living.

Till there was one more. One more thread, one more string holding him down.

"Wait…"

He looked up, and his eyes gleamed.

"You're doing this for me?"

A hint of a smile flickered on their face.

His arms went limp.

"So this is it then. You really are a weird kid, aren't ya? Even after I tried to take your life you still refused."

They flew up. He didn't stop them.

SLASH.

He was free from his chains.

Everything went dark.

It hadn't been enough in the end. It never would have been. He got that now, as he bled out and cursed at the heavens. The light never wanted him! He just wanted to see the sun, to hold the stars in his hand. Was that too much to ask for? Did God see it fit to have him denied?

He look at that kid in the eyes, in the same boat as him. He couldn't read their face, but he thought they were sad. Maybe in a better time they could have been friends.

A friend. Wouldn't one of those be nice.

So before the darkness swallowed him whole, he spoke.

"Break free from your chains, kid. You have the power. Nobody can tell you otherwise. In the last moment, in the last instant, the power is in your hands."

He took their hands in his, warm tears flowing down on their pale skin.

"And fly! Fly like I'd never had! Fly and never look back! Take shit from no one and hold that proud head high."

Their face quivered, and they whispered.

"Thank you."

That thanks was enough. More than he had all his life.

"When the enemy comes knocking, tell them your old pal Spamton sent you."

They turned back, looking at him one last time, and smiled.

He smiled back.

And the world went dark.