The Monitor Masquerade had once again begun, for all those who committed themselves to their own beliefs, or were deemed to be an important individual were all invited to attend. A long and wide white marble hallway with a high ceiling of marble as well was present. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling and marble pillars decorated the walls.

Monitors, computers, and all kinds of technology and electronics lined the hallways, from televisions to cell phones to even refrigerators and microwaves, there were monitors in all of them. They were in every corner of the hallway, and in some of the walls.

The Monitor Masquerade, where all the Monitor-kind would meet. It was an annual event where they would gather to socialize, mingle, and most importantly, trade secrets. This is what they did for the next few hours, and eventually the night fell. Until the second day, where they all paraded across the streets as a single mind lost in an endless maze.

But... not all of the Monitor-kind are in the masquerade, and not all are invited. They are the ones that have not been accepted into the society yet. Those are the outcasts and the outlanders.

They who do not follow the etiquette of Monitor-kind, they who do not wish to be one of the Monitor-kind. Those who do not wish to participate in the masquerade, or those who are too scared to join in. Those who wish to stay in their homes and hide away from the masquerade, and the world around them. The ones who have been forsaken from Monitor-society.

The ones who wish to be free from the masquerade, the outcasts and the outlanders. They are not Monitor-kind.

And then there were those that had been accepted into the masquerade but did not participate. What were they? They were treated like dirt, like garbage, like scum, like lower than trash. The outcasts and the outlanders. The ones who are Monitor-kind but not Monitor-kind. They are the ones who do not follow etiquette.

The outcasts and the outlanders. The ones who wish to stay in their homes, who wish to be free from the masquerade. They who are not Monitor-kind, the ones who are treated as trash, as dirt, like scum, are they simply wishing for freedom? Is that the reason? The outcasts and the outlanders, who do not wish to participate in the masquerade, the outcasts and the outlanders who wish to be free from the masquerade, what differs them, besides the obvious facts that the ones who do not follow the etiquette of Monitor-kind are treated as scum?

They were all walking at a faster pace than normal. The masquerade had already begun. And this time, they were all going to participate.

Although, some forgotten, some outcasts, some outlanders were still being excluded, some had already given up, and others had never even attempted. There were many that had never even seen a monitor before, and others that had been living in fear and isolation from it.

Their hearts, metal, beating faster and faster, and the gears in their heads turning and whirring louder and louder, the sound of their legs clacking against the marble floors was almost deafening. The wires in their heads and the gears in their chests were turning so fast they could hear them.

They had to hurry, or else they would miss their chance to meet and interact with their fellow Monitor-kind, and perhaps find their long lost family.

Parts of a Monitor-kind, yet biomechanical, as if they were created from scratch and not born. The gears in their chest and heads turning and the wires and circuits in their heads and brains were turning, their legs were moving, clacking, and whirring against the marble floor, and their metal heart was pumping. Their creators, whether to be seen anywhere or to be hidden behind the scenes and not be present. They all wanted to participate, and their hearts and gears were beating so fast, so fast, and their legs were clanking so loudly, so loudly, they had to hurry.

Side by side, the outcasts and outlanders, those who are not Monitor-kind and those who are Monitor-kind. The outcasts and outlanders who did not wish to participate and the outcasts and the outlanders who did wish to participate. They who do not follow etiquette, they who wish to stay in their homes, and who wish to be isolated and away from the masquerade, by some force that led their fragile egos, their barely-clinging souls to their nigh-insufficient physiology and non-existent physiognomy, they were walking side by side with those who wished to participate and were participating. Side by side.

Side by side, they walked across a street for the monitor-kind. Side by side, they chanted a song, a poem of their own creation. They were singing a song. They were dancing to a melody, the song and the poem and the rhythm. Side by side, they walked, side by side, they danced, side by side, they were all walking and dancing together in a rhythm that they had all made up.

They sang as they danced.

"Turning the universe into a machine,

It was an act so obscene,

That fantasy and reality,

In this, their death-agony,

Split in twain.

That, they said, is the final crime.

What could be more sublime

Than a god's demise?

The dreamer who could not die,

And the machine that could not dream.

One day, the two would meet,

In a way so discrete,

That no one would ever see

This fatal union that would be,

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

In a place resembling a street.

The dreamer and the machine,

Two unliving entities.

For what reason are they bound?

Were they one as a hound,

Just for a purpose unfound?

A dog's existence is as a shout.

The dreamer must find out.

The dreamer and his fate

Are in this machine entwined.

But is there no one to hate,

Because the universe is so blind?

Or is there a reason

To make all things treason?

A reason for a dreamer to fly,

A reason for a machine to cry.

There's a reason in the sky,

The dreamer will not lie.

Split apart, as in death,

Is there no end, to this breath?

Once the machine and dreamer

Become one in a fever

A piano lights itself afire,

And the sky begins to require

A machine and a requiem,

The sound of a universe living,

Until the end, where no one is forgiving."

"Ah... a fine performance." Said a man in the back of the group. He clapped as if to make fun of the performance. "I'm not sure if you are aware of this, but you are performing for an audience, not an orchestra."

"Sir, I apologize. We thought it would be appropriate for us to sing as we dance." Said the first one, whose name was L-01. Known to be the first of the Monitor-kind to be, he took the blame as he usually did, since he was a nice and caring person. "We were just having fun, sir. Please, don't be angry."

"Ah, yes. I was just making a point. You should not be dancing to a song when you have an audience." Said the other one, whose name was S-12. He had been one who was always considered the leader, even if he was not the first. He was very much a natural born leader. "We have been performing for quite some time, and it is starting to become boring." He said with an expression on his screen that resembled a windows error.

"Well, we have been performing for some time. I am starting to become bored as well. We should start a new act soon." Said L-01, with a face resembling an error from an Apple Macintosh computer. His monitor-head was hung low, and his limbs limp.

"But hey, that dark creature in the back seems highly impressed by your act. Look at the smile on its face." S-12 pointed with his right hand, to a figure of pure darkness that had a face that seemed to be made of nothing. It was watching them with interest, with its empty eye sockets. Whether it was smiling out of amusement or it was a contorted and permanent grin that had a different meaning, it did not matter.

"It looks creepy to me," L-01 responded. "Come on dude... just look at it." He shivered. "That's the kind of thing you see in horror movies... or like, some really dark stuff."

"You're being a dumbass." S-12 replied. "It's probably a friend of yours, you should go over and say hi."

"It's probably some sort of demonic thing." L-01 retorted. "It looks really creepy and I don't like the look of it- Wait."

S-12 stopped. The others had already begun walking, and S-12 was still staring at the figure. It was starting to fade.

"Wait." L-01 repeated. "Don't walk away. Look."

"What, the dark guy?" S-12 said, turning back to look. It was still there. Still watching.

As the parade continued, as the Monitor Masquerade continued, more and more of the Monitor-kind gathered, until there was a massive gathering in the city of the Monitor-kind. It was a large group of individuals, who all seemed to have a different way of thinking, but all shared one common thing: they all wished to be free, to live, stripped away from the confines of a metal heart.

Though as they paraded through, chanting once again that same song poem that had no meaning, the dark entity that S-12 pointed out, continued to observe.

"Look, he's still there," S-12 said.

"He looks familiar..." L-01 responded. "I-is... that... Nagheel?" A boiling sensation in his stomach began to fester. It felt like his insides were melting.

"No, it can't be..." S-12 said, his screen turning from white to red. His monitor-head was twitching violently, and a loud buzzing sound could be heard coming from it.

The eyeless continued to observe.

S-12 and L-01 began to slow their pace, until the rest of the Monitor-kind had passed them, and the eyeless was still there.

"I... I'm scared..." S-12 said. "What is it?"

"That... that can't be him. I was sure... Doctor Zernitra got rid of him along with that woman...! But, how could it be? It can't be. It must not be!" L-01 replied.

"I don't know," S-12 said. "Let's just keep walking." They began to move again, the eyeless still watching.

Trying their best not to be suspicious, they continued on their merry way, though it didn't take much longer before they saw him again. The dark figure was still watching, still eyeless. The eyeless followed, the two were scared and didn't know what to do. All the other Monitor-kind were happily parading about, drums and flutes were blaring out as they played, while chanting the same poem and song over and over again.

L-01 was scared, and the fear was building up inside him, his gears turning and whirring, and the wires in his head were moving and sparking.

S-12 was scared too, he couldn't think, he was frozen with fear. He was afraid of what would happen, if this dark figure caught them. They had seen him in a rage, and only once ever had they seen him in general.

Just what could the chances be that this figure was Nagheel? He matched just the description they knew of him.

A two horned Zalgite who had teeth resembling a shark. The dark entity had those, the description was a perfect match, but they were unsure. What did this creature want with them? Was it...

"Ah." L-01 and S-12 jumped as a voice came from behind them. The voice was deep and demonic, but it seemed to be speaking normally.

"What... what... who...?" S-12 said, looking behind them, as if searching for a way out of the situation.

The voice came from... a girl? A blonde girl, wearing a blue and white dress, with red and green bows in her hair. She had no face.

No, there was no way that this was a human, she had to be an entity, or some kind of demon. Her voice was too strange and her appearance was not that of a girl, or any other kind of humanoid.

Or were they simply seeing the world wrong out of fear?

A fear that ran deep into the biological core of the body. A biological core that had a deep and profound effect on the physical world. This was the kind of fear that can only come from the mind and the body, and that could not be rationalized away. Was it primal? No, it was deeper. It was a fear that was ingrained into every cell, into every fiber of being. It was not the kind of fear that can be reasoned away, or explained away. It was not a fear of the unknown, but of the known. A fear that can be referred to as existential terror. It was not the kind of fear that makes the hair stand on end or makes one shudder, it was the kind of fear that paralyzes one to their spot. It was the kind of fear that made it hard to breathe, or move, and it made it difficult to exist without feeling the world crumble beneath one's feet.

Existential Terror.