Todd considers himself lucky to work so close to home. It’s a rough neighborhood and the less time he spends in the dark, the better. The sun had already set over the horizon two hours ago. The only visible source of light seeps from the tightly locked windows and doors that flank him on either side of the empty street.

His heavy eyelids and tired legs remind him of what could happen if caught unaware in a dangerous place. For his exhaustion, he has nothing but his job to blame. Much to his own chagrin, his schedule has had him working later and later shifts every single week. 

He would love to complain to his manager, but as it currently stands, he’d rather not. An able bodied young man—like himself—is a common occurrence in this part of town. If Todd were to become too “difficult”, he’d be fired and replaced without hesitation. 

Instead of mulling over problems he can’t fix, he turns his gaze to his surroundings. His terrifying, desolate, pitch black surroundings. His head moves on a swivel, letting no sound go unnoticed, letting no shadow go unchecked. He hopes his gaze would be enough to deter anything residing within the dark.

He hurriedly makes his way down the street. His coat sticks close to his body, and his boots beat out into the quiet. The blemish of poverty stains every building and structure within sight. Plastic bags and cigarette butts litter the street and every drainage grate, fire escape, and metallic surface is covered in a thick layer of rust. His steps are uneven and impaired, as there is not a meter of concrete on the sidewalk that isn't webbed with cracks. 

A rustling noise sounds out behind him and he flicks his head back; the street is as empty as it always has been. For this entire walk, not a single car has driven by, and not a single soul walked with him. He is all alone tonight, he hopes he is. Only one more block until his apartment block would be in sight.

Rounding around a corner he approaches a building—his building. It's utterly identical to each other building surrounding it. 

And just like last night—and every other night he worked past dark—he makes it to his building safe and sound. The shadows outside only hint at the possibilities after all. 

He breathes out a long held breath, trudging out of the darkness and into the dim flickering lights of his apartment block’s lobby. He feels like he escaped a den of beasts.

His apartment block is in a state of unsurprising disrepair. Well beaten wooden floors creak under his feet as he enters the familiar ground floor. He turns his head away from the peeled wallpaper and moldy furniture. A shabby, circular counter is stationed in the center of the lobby. It’s well prepared for a crime ridden environment, as almost the entire circumference is topped with solid iron bars welded from the countertop to the ceiling. Yet, for the few months that Todd has lived here, he has never once seen somebody inside.

He walks past the unmanned post and makes his way up the equally neglected staircase. The exertion from the stairs slows him down a bit; the muscles in his legs loudly disagree with each movement. One would think that after a few months of hard labor, a person would get used to this kind of pain. Clearly that wasn't the case.

Exiting at the 3rd floor platform, he briskly walks down the hall to his apartment door. He unlocks it, opens it, and quickly slips inside. With a practiced fervor he re-locks the door and slides the deadbolt. He reaches for a nearby chair—oddly placed right next to the door—and rests it under the handle. It's always better to be safe than sorry. 

Finally in his “home”, the struggles of the day made themselves known as every part of his body begins to double, then triple in weight. With all the will in the world, he drags himself into his apartment proper. 

It’s completely dark. The single light fixture of the apartment stopped working a week prior, and the building’s owner was refusing to return his calls. Luckily for him, he acquired a solution from a corner store a few days back. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small green keychain-flashlight, and flicks it on. 

His apartment is a dismal and tiny place. It's a continuation of everything that surrounds it: moldy, unkept, and filthy. The carpet and the plaster walls are poxed with stains and unknown fluids. Bottles and various garbage lay dotted across the floor, increasing in frequency around a large trash bin that has long since overflowed. A bare, one man mattress lays flat on the ground, greedily taking up a whole quarter of the floorspace. An all encompassing musky smell ties the room together—but it's his musky smell, so it can be safely ignored. 

Todd carefully moves through the landfill, pushing away trash with his shoes, carving a clear two-lane path from his door to his mattress. A brief spike of panic runs through him as he almost slips on a glass bottle. 

Standing over his bed, he tears off his coat, slips out of his boots, and collapses head first onto the mattress. Not before flicking off his keychain-flashlight, bringing darkness to the tiny room once again. 

He is gross and hungry, but a shower and a snack can wait till morning. What he needs now is sleep. A little adjusting and tossing later and he’s resting in the perfect sleeping position—flat on your back, staring up into the dark ceiling. It's comfortable and the room is dead quiet. 

Now, all Todd has to do is pass out.

“I’m probably going to die like this.” 

He mumbles softly to himself, his eyes and body keeping eerily still. 

“I'm seriously gonna die like this, I bet.”

He can’t keep his thoughts out of his head, no matter how tired he is. His memories come tearing through his consciousness like a chainsaw. Todd knows exactly what happened for his life to come to this, the cascading pile of mistakes and failures he made since the very start of College. 

Before the “disaster”, he was an average student at best, and mediocre at worst. And while he was a tad standoffish, he had a few good friends. He was far from a prodigy or a socialite, but he was ok. He was good enough for most. A true icon of the “middle of the road.” But there was only one single unfortunate aspect of his life—Todd was born to a family of winners.

The Gallighers—his family—are an absurd bunch. They are athletic, extroverted, and academic geniuses across the board. Perfect is the only word to describe them. 

His mom is a renowned physician and his dad is a bestselling children’s author. His siblings are much of the same, his older brother was a young winner of a national Pianist Competition, and his older sister skipped multiple grades to acquire a massive scholarship years ahead of time. It's a safe bet to say that everyone in his family can be called exceptional, with only a single glaring exception.

Todd was never exceptional, he is the singular flaw upon his perfect family. If he was born to any other family he would have lived just fine. But Todd is the youngest child of the Galligher family, and that—he assumes—is supposed to mean something. 

Growing up, he stood in the shadow of two older siblings that surpassed him in every single possible way. They received praise and accolades for their vast array of talents. Not a second went by that they weren’t surrounded by an endless league of congratulatory good friends. Those two made their parents proud. While Todd, however, was merely a presence—something far away. 

Looking at them and looking at him, It was silly to think that they are even related. 

Blatant inferiority was bad enough, but what stings him the most is that his family never thought little of him. They love him, and will love him regardless. 

It makes sense, he thinks. They’re the perfect family, of course they would love him. In fact, he could leave this apartment right now, take a bus all the way back home, tell them everything, and they would still hug him close—even if he didn’t deserve it. 

After living 18 years surrounded by the exceptional, College seemed like a fresh start. His mediocre scholarly efforts netted him an equally mediocre scholarship to a campus just a few hours from home. 

Within the confines of this College campus, he wished to reinvent himself. He wanted to be exactly like a Galligher should: a prodigy, a socialite, and a winner. 

Though, unfortunately for Todd, he bit off far more than he could chew. It was almost comical how much he set himself up to fail.

Against his advisor’s will, he signed up for an absurd number of classes. He joined every club he possibly could, and attended every party and social event on the docket. By the end, his weekly schedule was a packed mess. Sunrise to sunset was filled—front-to-back—with classes, parties, meetings, and other self-inflicted obligations. No time to rest, no time to think.

They could do it, easy. It would be nothing to them. If they can do it, then I will too, he thought at the time.

He put himself through the ultimate ringer. Never in his life had he ever tried so hard. Never before had he pushed himself to such a limit. Planners were filled, books were read, an eternal smile had found itself plastered upon his face. He truly believed that, somehow, the middling Todd Galligher could be born anew.

But as expected, everything quickly went to hell. It was all too much for someone of his meagre caliber. It took just a few sub-average grades for the first cracks to show. All that smiling, all those parties, all those clubs. It went nowhere in the end. He only made it a few weeks in before he burnt himself down to the nub.

He could study hard and pretend to smile all he likes, it doesn’t change the simple fact that he’s still the same person he’s always been. Nothing had changed—he hadn’t changed. He was miserable, all his efforts for nothing. He hated every second he spent on that campus. 

Soon enough, staying in bed and rotting away was about the only thing he ever did. It didn't matter if he went to class or not, it was all useless in the end.

While both his siblings could effortlessly push through the struggle and overcome. He—instead—became a social recluse and got put into the academic red zone.

He tried to be like them and was thoroughly put in his place. He wasn’t like them, he just—fundamentally—isn't a real Galligher. 

A few more missed assignments later and he was banned from campus; suspended for “poor academics”. Which was fair, he admitted. No way they could keep somebody like him. 

Yet, for some curious reason, the school failed to contact his parents. 

They only told him. Somehow, his parents didn’t know about his suspension! If they did, they would have driven here to pick him up, or at the very least called him about it!

Then he had an idea. It was a stupid, stupid, idea. Todd—with his infinite wisdom—decided to lie to them.

He called them up and told them that he was thriving! That he was acing all his classes, that he was meeting so many new people, that he was truly finding himself.

Of course, it was all bullshit front to back. Though, he might have been a tad unrealistic with his lies. But after finishing his story, the way they replied shocked him. 

They sounded so happy for him. His parents never spoke to him in such a tone before. 

They wanted to hear everything, so he quickly made an excuse and hung up. He could hear it in their voices and their caring words. They truly love him—and he abused that, because he wasn’t good enough. Todd cannot recall a time in his life where he hated himself more than that moment.

Now all alone and on the streets, he had to get his crap together and figure something out. But most importantly, he had to keep the lie alive.

To this day, his parents continue to call regularly and Todd continues to dig his grave deeper and deeper, all while keeping track of the ever increasing complexity of his fake College life. Thankfully, they never question his stories too much, they clearly trust him.

While lying to his parents was hard enough, the truly difficult part was staying alive and earning a living. He found a job easily enough. It wasn’t a good job with a good income, but it was something at least. And before he left for College, he collected a decent sum of cash from a part-time summer job. Using that, he was able to get himself a grimy hole in the ground to call home. 

Now, he had a job and a place to live, all that was left for him was to make something of himself. Boldly lying to his loved ones and having something to show for it is better than boldly lying and having nothing. 

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If he was going to truly live like this then he was going to make it big, no excuses. Anything that one would deem “success” will be enough: money, a good job, responsibility or purpose. Anything like that would do. 

The next time his family laid their eyes on him, he’ll be a changed man. No longer a freeloader. Maybe, becoming a true member of the family wasn’t impossible after all? 

Then a few days passed, then a few more days, then a week, then a month. The trash grew more frequent; the garbage began to form piles. The smell went from notable to rancid. A pattern began to emerge. He woke up, he worked all day, then he went to sleep. Repeat, repeat and repeat. 

Running away like this—it should've been an opportunity to change it all for the better. But his disgusting laziness has other plans. Despite everything, it's so much easier said than done.

He's working the same job, bathing in the same filth, doing the same damn thing. Every single day. He aims for the stars, but does nothing to reach them. Just like College, just like his entire life. Once again—Nothing has changed. 

So here he stays, going to bed staring at the same dark, dirty ceiling he's been staring at for months. Maybe it was wishful thinking to expect any form of “success” in such a rundown place like this, but he can’t use that excuse if he never really tried. 

A part of him wishes that his parents find out. At least then they would get him out of this hellhole and bring him home. Besides, he’s running low on funds; rent has been bleeding him dry. A few more weeks like this and then he’ll be forced to call home. 

His eyes snap open.

“No.” 

Determination leaks from his tone. He lays down on his dirty mattress. An unshakeable resolve begins to fill every part of his being. He won’t falter now, he cannot afford to. 

Wallowing in his failures in the middle of the night isn't productive—nor healthy. Action must be taken. He isn’t on schedule tomorrow, a full day of possibility ahead of him. He will make use of it. He’ll look for a better job, go to a library, meet new people, anything besides this. 

College was a disaster, the last few months weren’t great either. But this time won't be like those other times, tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow is where he will take his first steps on the road to success! Wherever that may be.

With the comfort of tomorrow’s opportunity, Todd manages to close his eyes; the troubles vanishing from his head. The darkness of night transforms into the darkness of rest. His worries and fears lose ground as he slowly descends into a deep sleep. A state of existence where petty little things—like shame—cannot hope to manifest. A place where the only thing he can contemplate, is nothing at all.

Todd has always been a “good” sleeper, not once in his memory can he recall ever having a nightmare. Well… to be more accurate, he can never recall having a dream either. When he goes to bed, his mind pictures nothing and feels nothing. To him, It's like he's suddenly transported from night to day with nothing but a blank space in-between.

He wrote it off as a quirk of his mind; dreams are something that happen to others but inexplicably never happen to him. It didn’t bother him though. If he couldn’t experience it, then he’ll never know what he is missing. Despite that, however, there was always that small desire to just know—what's it like to dream? 

But tonight—somehow—It appears as if that small desire will be granted.

Within Todd’s mind, something is different. Something is stirring. Traversing the abyss of his own sleeping psyche, he comes across something new. Something he would have never expected to experience. A very simple rule of his life—his inability to dream—seems to have been broken.

Is this a dream… am I dreaming? 

He thinks with a slight apprehension. The sheer fact that he is thinking at all proves that something is different tonight, at the very least. He attempts to feel the mattress under his body, but he senses nothing below him. Even the air seemed to have stilled.

Dreams were described as wild, unpredictable glimpses into the deepest pits of one's mind and soul. Yet, all Todd could see at the moment was a foggy black void—almost exactly like his apartment. 

The surroundings aren't exactly an “unpredictable glimpse.” 

Is this it? My mind cannot be this empty—right?

He tries to move his finger, then his toes. The motions are there; he can feel the feedback. But his body is unfocused and numb, the sensations of movement just barely carrying over. 

He attempts to lift an arm to his face. It's a struggle just to move his hand. It's like he’s submerged in honey. Today’s work sapped all his energy, but not to this extent. There has got to be another explanation for this. 

Trapped in his own mind, a feeling of deep unease begins to set in. Whoever had told him what a dream was like had done an awful job.

Is this even a dream? Sleep paralysis, maybe?

To test a quick theory Todd opens his mouth to speak.

“Hey -” 

But before he could even register his own voice. His world is subsumed by impossible, unending light. 

A light far whiter than any fluorescent bulb, far greater than daybreak. His eyes—used to the darkness—instantly burn upon contact with the radiance. No part of his eye is spared, from the edges of his vision to the center of his corneas, the pain rips straight into his skull from all possible angles. 

He wouldn’t be lucky if he wasn’t blinded. Rather, he’d be lucky if his eyes didn’t melt in their sockets.

Then comes the droning noise; the silence broken. Like two mountains clashing, the sound was impossibly loud and unmistakably grand. Its origin was unknowable, as if it was coming from the light itself or from some unseen horizon. The groan digs straight into his ear canals. It crawls across his body, violently shaking him down to the organs. The sound was practically tearing him apart. 

The limbs that were only numb before now feel non-existent from the vibrations. He could be stock still or flailing around like a rag-doll, he cannot tell. 

Time seemed to bend around him. The all-encompassing light and the obscene noise utterly negating any and all sense and thought. How could anybody think straight under such circumstances?

Yet, a single thought pokes through the fog. It’s a negative and nagging thought. It will do him no good, but it is all he has. 

Of course—my first ever dream would be a nightmare.

It continued like this for a while. Todd is unable to tell how long it had been. Tracking the seconds through the stimuli is impossible. It feels as if the onslaught had lasted for an eternity, but how long is that? 

He assumes that his eyes have long since burned to ash and that his ears drums had been hammered to the bone. The only thing he knows for certain is that, eventually, the agonizing pain soon mellowed into a subdued throb. The blood pumping through the tight wrapped veins covering his form, it's the only real feeling he has left. 

His eyes don't matter anymore. His ears don't matter anymore. There is nothing to be collected from sight and sound, there is nothing else but the light and the endless groaning noise. Except—that won’t last forever.

Upon the very edges of his awareness—a place impossible to find—a strange noise begins to form. A thousand different sounds, little clicks, and nonsensical squelches; they all move as one. Like grains funneling down a tube into a singularity. Individually they mean nothing, but together they collect into something whole—something coherent. They collect into something that Todd was never expecting to hear again.

It is a voice. Covered by the great noise, it could just barely be heard.

“Absolutely not! Have you always been such a crazed lunatic!? This man has nothing to do with us. I've been on this project since the very start, and believe me, I would have burned the prototype if I knew you’d do something so disgusting.”

The voice is that of a young man. Both peppy and intellectual. It’s a voice that a student might hear teaching theory in a lecture hall—if it wasn’t currently screaming at somebody. The voice was furious and assertive, there was no room for argument.

Yet, there is also a sense of focus; not a single stutter or misstep can be heard in the rant. This outburst didn’t come from nowhere, this is clearly something that was building for a—long—time.

“You psychotic bastard. You evil psychotic bastard! This is vile, completely lord-dammed vile! I can’t stand this any longer, I'm gone… This club? I'm done with it. I’ll leave today even, I -”

The voice abruptly cuts. A deep, terrifying, rumble shudders across Todd’s body, and with it, a horrible sensation infiltrates the back of his mind. Like an axe is held above him, waiting to swing at his neck. 

Todd can’t perceive his surroundings. He wishes the voice would return, something to distract him from this sickening feeling.

Slowly, the voice of the young man fades back into existence, but it's different this time. The righteous anger is extinguished; replaced with a pathetic and quivering tone—unbefitting of the original introduction. What was once a loud and assertive presence was now reduced to a pleading whelp. Whatever that rumble was, it shattered his bravado to dust. 

“Please… Kethrin, my good friend, many would spit at us if they learned of what we've done. But for this… Kethrin, we would be executed. Please. Listen to reason… I-I mean we don't even know who this is! What if he’s important! We should at least -” 

“He’s perfect.”

Todd had already discarded the theory that this experience was merely a dream. But the shreds of lingering doubt within his mind crumbled away the moment he heard those two words. Never in a million years could his imagination possibly put so much power in two measly words. 

This mysterious second man has an absurdly deep voice. Deep as a chasm and solid as stone. The sort of voice that worms its way into your skull. The type of voice that can never be imitated. It's overpowering, and it belongs to him, and he knows this.

The young man was shut down immediately. His prattling was simple chaff against the might of his will. When this second man spoke, he did not speak with malice or emotion. He spoke with authority. An authority only reserved for kings, or men arrogant enough to believe they control the world.

It seems the identity of that terrible rumbling has revealed itself. No wonder the young man’s confidence was left in ruins.

The second man spoke again, calm and controlled like an undisturbed pool of water.

“If you wish to leave, then leave. I wouldn't be awfully bothered if you do. Though it would be terrible to lose a mind like yours—we would manage in the end, of course… But I'm sure you're aware, correct? If you leave, you'll lose my protection, and your brother will not follow.”

“He won't stand for something like… t-this. He’ll leave too, I know he will.”

“Unlikely, This was his idea, not mine.”

“What!? That’s not… He isn't like that at all! H-He doesn’t have ideas like that!”

The man takes a brief second to breathe.

“I… I am sorry, but I simply cannot believe that.”

“You do not have to. Now—decide. Stay, and do your duty. Or leave, and endanger yourself as the rest of us make up for your absence. But regardless of your choice, I will proceed.”

The conversion hit a lull. The young man deeply considers what he heard. Weighing the few options before him, he makes his decision.

“I need to talk to Parth.” 

The voice slips away, doubtlessly leaving to complete his task. Leaving Todd all alone with a loud, radiant void, and the voice of power.

Then, like a splash of ice water, he feels a hand placed upon his chest. All the fear he had ever felt in his life couldn't hope to match the terror that just spiked through his mind. The voices sounded so distant, like a talk show on the radio. They couldn’t possibly be there. It wouldn't make sense for such voices to be real, right?

The cold hand pressing upon him proves just how real it is. Todd snaps himself back into focus. His mind is broken no longer. He finally recognizes the reality of the situation: he’s paralyzed, he can't see, he can’t feel, he can barely hear, and there are two unknown men discussing… something? It dawns upon him.

Holy shit! I’ve been kidnapped!

The muscles in his body tighten; his beating heart pumps blood to every corner of his frame. He attempts to move, something, anything. His mouth, his arms, his eyes. Nothing works. It's like he's been stripped down, every part of him stolen away. His brain goes haywire. 

As every option before him gets slashed down one by one, incoherent babble floods his mind.

Wake me up, please! I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die! I can’t move! What’s happening?! Why can’t I see?! Don’t hurt me! Please! I just want to go -. 

Suddenly, the deep voice of authority emerges, slicing through his rabid thoughts and dominating his mind. The hand upon his chest—likely belonging to the voice—rumbles as he speaks.

“Your heart rate is increasing… You are awake. That means you can hear me, correct?”

The voice pauses, as if expecting Todd to reply.

“You cannot speak? Hmm… A shame, then. I would have liked to know your name, at the very least.”

The hand lifts itself from his chest and tightly wraps around one of his forearms. The grip is firm, Todd could never oppose it.

“From the sweat across your brow and the strain within your muscles, I deduce that you are afraid, correct? Well… Let me put those fears to rest then, there is nothing to be afraid of.”

The vice-like grip slips from his arm and the voice continues on, but distant, as if it's briefly leaving to prepare something nearby.

“I assure you, anywhere your life would have taken you pales in comparison to the importance you now possess. You will never be forgotten for this.”

A large crack of thunder and the grinding of metal appears. Unmistakably the sound of machinery. The voice speaks again, but this time, right behind him. Directly into his ear.

“When everyone across the world basks in the glory of their perfect world. All of them shall know—deep in their soul—that it was your sacrifice that gave them their prosperity. For this, for everything, I thank you.”

S-Sacrifice?

Before Todd could even react, a spike of misery wedges itself directly into, and through his scalp. It was an electric and restless agony; so detrimental he can’t fathom where the pain starts or ends. It eats away his nerves like molten steel and shatters his psyche to pieces. He would scream if he could, he would thrash and wail if he could. But Todd can do nothing as his mind—and likely his head as well—are split down the center. 

The pain lasted only a moment longer, before Todd Galligher could think no longer.