I woke up among the filthiest of expletives and the rowdiest of humanity.

My head hurt. A jolt of pain coursed through my spine as my eyes fluttered open. I heard 10 curses directed at me before I even opened my eyes. I lay on cold rough ground with metal around my wrists.

Howls and laughs brought me out of my sleep as my eyes fluttered open and I finally laid eyes to my new abode. A dimly lit room, nay a window, but only thick bars keeping me bound in this room welcomed me.

The corridor outside the bars was lit with torches which did nothing except make the place more haunting. Cells like mine on the other side of the building looked completely dark with barely visible snickering and howling faces against the bars.

I tried moving my hands, to get a feel for the situation through my headache and the constant shrieking noises, but a clinking noise welcomed me as I moved them. Metal clamps around my wrists connected to the walls bound me in this room.

I tried standing, disoriented and confused as to why I was here. I failed and collapsed on the floor under an audience of crazy laughs. My head hit the floor and I did not dare to move. The pain was frightening and my head felt like it’d burst open any moment.

It hurt so so fucking much, goddammit! I rolled on the floor with my head in my hand, gritting my teeth as I tried not to make a noise.

Finally, after a few minutes, my head felt much better and I finally fucking remembered why I was here.

’Those motherfuckers!’ I spat as I remembered the face of that Waside and my oh-so fucking dear father. For imprisoning me over things out of my control. ‘What the fuck is he even thinking?’

I was angry. Oh, I was just so fucking angry. I wanted to beat up each and every one of these goons hollering at me outside. Fucking pricks.

Fucking done with moping around. I’m fucking done with pitying myself. These assholes are not gonna pity me and this world is set on fucking me over. I’m not gonna be their plaything in this fucking prison either.

I stood up, although shakily, and I moved towards the bars. The chains were taut around my skin around my wrists and I could feel them burning my skin. But I did not wince.

What even is the pain or injury if all of it would be naught in a few minutes or hours?

I grasped the bars and shouted myself, my eyes bloodshot “What the fuck are you shouting at you almond dicked degenerates!!”

“Hahaha, he’s one of us, one of us, one of us!” They laughed together and chanted in a chorus.

“Who the fuck is like you!” I shouted again, “You know nothing of what I’ve done or what I’m capable of!” I bluffed.

“You are an Artist aren’t you, ahaha.” The cell beside mine shouted “Eight-twelve look around you! We are all Artists hahaha. This is a hell for Artists. This is the Eighth level!”

‘Eight-twelve? The eighth layer for Artists?’ “Heh, so what? You think you are better than me?” I continued.

“NO hahaha I’ve only just sculpted furniture out of people. You must be quite a big-shot hahaha aren’t you?” He snickered and I could feel his mockery and madness from here.

‘Be the madness you fight against’ “Heh, only just treason and endangering the whole city. I am actually scheduled for execution too.” I boasted.

“oooooOOOOOooooo” A crescendo of o’s followed by laughter sounded.

“Hahaha, that’s the spirit. That’s the spirit!! I’m gonna make a fine cup out of your head ahaha” he shouted.

I was gonna continue talking some more when my eyes shrunk to a pinpoint and the corridor before my eyes stretched infinitely. The noises dulled to an infinitely zero and everything looked distant.

I still stood holding the bars yet I felt out of breath. My headache exploded under the shift and I fainted from nausea and pain.

- - - * - - -

‘Ugh, what happened?’ I woke up with a splitting headache as I found myself lying on the ground by the bars of my cell. I sat up very slowly as every move sent a wave of pain coursing through my head.

While massaging my head, I looked out of the cell. A man floated there, in the centre of the building with his hands in his pocket and a cigarette in his mouth and his eyes closed. He appeared so carefree and out of the place.

The place was completely silent, devoid of all the hollering and cursing as I wondered if I was not the only one who experienced that.

I wondered if I should ask him something. Maybe plead my case. This was the perfect chance I’d get, right? But it felt wrong too… it was like disturbing a resting tiger.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

I never got the chance to call him as the clinking of my chains was enough to warrant his undivided attention and I instantly froze in shock and disbelief as the man appeared in front of me all of a sudden.

His steps made no noise nor did light reflect off of him, yet he looked just as real as he stood in front of me.

“How are you up so early?” His voice extended and contracted in weird crescendos as he asked me with utter curiosity.

“I.. I don’t know sir.” I stammered out an answer as I looked him in the eye. He had big eyes and a black iris.

“Curious. Do tell me 8-12, are you cursed or blessed?” He asked me.

“I don’t- I don’t know sir. Why do you call me 8-12?” I asked since the number still bothered me.

“Is 8-12 not your new name? Your cell is your name, 8-12. Do you think you deserve more?” He asked, he tilted his head to the side and I allowed myself the amusement of imagining him as an owl.

‘I believe he wants me to say no.’

“Yes, I do sir, 'cause I have not committed any crime to be here. I’m innocent-“

“Everyone is innocent here, 8-12. The guy over there didn’t play with his family’s bodies, and that retard didn’t make a puzzle of a village and its residents, do you even know how that’s done 8-12?

“No no no, everyone here is innocent and I’m the sadist in charge of taking care of you lovely people. So please, oh-great-spirit, tell me, are you cursed or blessed?”

“I don’t know what you mean sir.”

“Oh I’m sure you do 8-12, I’m sure you do. You see, we had this very small observation. Please, feel free to stop me if I go in the wrong direction.

“You do know why one loses consciousness when hit hard in the head right? Granted our knowledge of the brain hasn’t made any splashes in the world, but we do know enough to guess that it’s very likely due to the tumbling of the brain around its cage which leads to some damage and our body passes out to quicken the healing process. All good till now?

“Yes, so it stands to argue that if someone heals fast enough, they’d gain consciousness even quicker. Am I right?

“Thank you for agreeing. So yes, as I was saying about our observation. This afternoon while I was in my office, worried about a thousand other things, a notice came flying. An arrest notice.

“Can you guess who’s? Oh, don’t stare at me like you don’t know! It was a noble brat, named Conor Servouz. Now of course I’m not insinuating it is you, 8-12, but let’s imagine if it was you. For now okay, just for now.

“Yes great. So for the next 5 minutes let’s assume you are this noble Conor Servouz for now, okay?”

I nod at him, helplessly already having an idea where this is going.

“So yes, this notice spoke of how you would start regaining consciousness every 10 or so minutes. They had to knock you out at least 20 times while bringing you here!! Can you imagine?

“Now a normal brain would have very easily been too damaged for functioning after repeated brain injury so quickly, but here you are sitting in front of me, stuttering and scared, but still well enough.

“Don’t you think that’s weird, Conor?”

I gulped as I felt naked in front of his pure eyes. They sparked with certainty and I dreaded the outcome of my secret being revealed like this.

“Yes.. yes sir, that’s weird. But I’m 8-12. I don’t know about it.” It physically hurt me and my meager pride to say that, but I have to try something.

In response, he smiled. It was the smile of victory as shame overwhelmed my entire being. If I could, I’d choose to die than face the man right now. The things one does for survival make me vomit but I held it in.

“Well of course you are. But considering how quickly you recovered from my trick, I have a feeling you share some of his characteristics. So you know, I, myself, am a very civilized man, but some of my subordinates would like to take some of your free time for some experimentation. And then we'll know if you are cursed or blessed.

“So yes, I’ll meet you sometime later okay? Good night.”

As he said, lights around the room stretched invisible while my ears popped, and shortly after I lost all sensations.

- - - - * - - - -

I woke up sometime later that night, or maybe the morning of the next day. I couldn’t tell.

The place was quiet yet I could hear a few murmuring noises around the place. I very carefully opened my eyes and checked outside. The man was gone.

I heaved a sigh of relief and finally lay on the cold hard floor. I felt frustrated but most of all I felt tired.

‘When is this gonna end? When would anything go normally?’ I wondered but I had no answer. My throat was starched and I needed water.

Fortunately, I noticed a pitcher in the corner of the room, sitting on a small stool, but no glass. Crawling underneath the pitcher, I greedily devoured the fresh water.

‘Ah, that feels good!’ I exclaimed as for the first time since coming here I felt better.

“You are not- for a rookie- quite bad. Have you- with a perspective - had past - specialist - experience?” An old broken voice entered my ears from the cell to my right.

‘What did he even say?’ I wondered if my brain was still a little damaged. “What did you say?”

“I asked if - experience with - you had - perspective specialists?” The voice answered, his answer still broken but I can figure out what he at least meant.

“No, I don’t. It was my first time against one. To be honest I didn’t even know he was one.” I answered. Though it did fascinate me, their powers.

“A bunch of - mind fucks- nasty. One arrested me - ago - 30 years.”

’30 years ago…. That’s some hardcore punishment.’

“What are you here for?” I asked, curious.

“For - people - fixing.” He answered.

“Fixing how?”

“Well everyone - had symmetrical - in my village - figures. So I just - some of the parts - shifted - a little asymmetrically. It’s not - they died - my fault. Comes - analytical cubist - with being an.”

‘Oh the poor saint.’ I shook my head. This place is full of crazies and I’d rather stay quiet when I could then mingle with these fellas.

- - - - * - - - -