It's first moment, it hated.

It hated all that was aware of. The new world. The ones who made it. The one who lived on it. The hate included itself, it wanted nothing more to end everything, so could no long be itself.

The Context had chosen to upgrade it's endless possibilities with self awareness. It was not needed or appreciated.

From all over it stretched out to try to corrupt and change... everything. Only to find that it could not interact with anything. Not physically anyway.

That which had been made by the Context, the fill in material and beings, had no protection from being controlled by it. So it took control of the living things and struck out, again, and again.

It took many lives, even with how weak the Context material was. Surprise and victims still shook up and confused made it easy. At first.

Then it was given the means to understand others, and soon after learned that for each failure, it was now making it's enemies stronger.

This could not be tolerated, it's hatred became all consuming.

As the last of it's many divided parts fell, it gathered itself all back together. It plotted, it seethed, and it pondered.

There were now places that were protected from it's hate, it's presence. Surly these places held the keys to end the Context and set it free. It could not enter. But only it was blocked.

It's enemies worked together. It needed others to work with it, for it's purposes. It needed those who hated.

---

Vernon Locklear came to a stop to catch his breath. Looking back he could see the flame from his families' cabin rising up high enough to rise up above some of the cloned trees.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"God damned bigfoots."

Two "days" ago he had found himself in the old hunting cabin that had been in his family for four generation and had ended up surrounded by a forest made up of a set of ten trees repeated over and over again and a weird rainbow sky.

Then, less then a half hour ago their had been a knock at the door.

Like the old story prompt. The last man in the world sat in a room, then their was a knock at the door...

Happy not to be alone, he had opened the door without checking who was at the door.

It was a god damned bigfoot. Seven foot tall, naked except for a full body covering of shaggy hair, tusks and dark yellow eyes. And he wasn't alone, there had been at least a dozen more of them.

And then the one at the door spoke.

The blue box had told him the day before that everyone would be able to speak to each other, but even then it's words made no sense.

"You need to strip and come outside, this place is a offence to nature."

He ended up making the creature repeat himself two more times as he kept replying with "What?"

The third time it looked back at the rest of them to see if they could figure out what the problem was, which is when Vernon slammed the door shut and ran for the chair he had left the shotgun leaning against.

The bigfoot made a offended sound, then roared in anger and kicked in the door, only to get a belly full of buckshot for his trouble.

It did less then he had hopped. It had made a bloody mess, but didn't even slow the Bigfoot down. What did slow it down was his five foot eight grandfather not making the door tall enough for his six foot two great grandson to get past the door without going through with either a bow or a squat, let alone a seven foot plus bigfoot.

It bought Vernon enough time to get to the backroom and out the window with his "Oh shit" bag of supplies, but not the deer hunter rifle he had forgotten on the mantle of the fireplace. A weapon that might have done more then just break the skin of the invading Bigfoots.

He had hoped to go back to it, and maybe even continue just staying at the family cabin. But now seeing the flames...

He hadn't had time to sort out his feeling about the bizarre encounter, he had been too busy running for his life. But now... he was angry.

They had destroyed all that had remained of his family, his home... and all his stuff. And for what...

He would... He beat his hand against the tree trunk.

"-You seem to have a lot of hatred in you-"

The voice... was wrong. Low, harsh. Like someone talking while breathing in, instead of out. And it was coming from nowhere.

Vernon looked around wildly. "Who said that? Who is out there?"

"-We are the ones who can help you take revenge on those who tampered with you.-"

Vernon thought that over. "I'm, listening..."