The glowing chains around your throat and your wrists ache, weighing your weary body down. The pain feels like it’s deep-set into your bones, like those demonic hands carved right into your marrow, marking you so deep you’ll never get clean.

You don’t hear him enter the room. He’s floating, after all. The only indication you get to his presence is a faint yellow glow. Of course, he has to speak eventually.

“This would all be easier if you gave in,” Bill says for the dozenth time, “You could have anything you want. Infinite possibilities, literally! Just let me into that head of yours…”

You’ll say no. You always do. These hours of Weirdmageddon have been hell on Earth, for lack of a better term. You’re constantly torn between worrying about your friends–your family–and grasping onto your steadily declining sanity.

Bill knows. He knows everything that goes on in your brain. Well, everything except the one thing he needs to figure out total world domination. It’s only a matter of time.