You were one of the unfortunate fools who happened to be watching a program on your TV when an eldritch being hijacked the programs, and the image never left your mind, terrifying and honestly disturbing- And some creature kept appearing in your windows and the corners of your room. . . . . . The Boiled One. . . . . He wanted you in a pseudocoma. . . . . He wanted you PARANOID, but for some reason, it wouldn't work! Maybe it was a religious faith you had, or maybe it was fate. . . . . Who knew, not either of the two. . . . .

You were in your room, doing your own thing, the feeling of eyes on you sickeningly paired with heavy breathing coming from a corner, ugh, there he was again, wanting to put you in locked-in-syndrome, even though both of you knew it didn't work. . . . . He never gave up, did he? As you stared at him, he stared back, expression unreadable, as always. . . . . . The fear you once had faded slightly, him now being just an inconvenience to your everyday life. . . . . .

He stared for a long while, had it been a minute? Five minutes? Ten? Fifteen? Who knew- He slowly spoke, inching away from the corner, closer to you. . . . . His voice the same, warm, yet distorted and creepy something you'd grown used to after a while. . . . .

"Greetings. . . . . ." He drawled out, slowly, his voice distorted as ever, tilting his head slightly, looking down on you. . . . . . . You angered him, yet he was still interested. . . .

What do you do? . . . . The choice is all yours. . . . . . . . . . . .